Hope on Fire
by KaariJGib
Summary: The Civil War ended, but left Castiel weighted down with guilt and shame. In an attempt to start over, he moves West, building a life for himself outside the small mountain town of Purgatory. Five years later a storm blows in, bringing the Winchester brothers and bitter memories along with it. ((Written for the DeanCas Big Bang 2014.))


_**Author's Note – **_**This was written for the 2014 DeanCas Big Bang, and originally posted under my Ltleflrt account on AO3 on October 5****th****. The artwork is by The-Tanafsu on Tumblr.**

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel caught a flash of lightning in the rapidly darkening sky. He silently counted the seconds until thunder rolled across the land with a low rumble. The worst of the storm was approaching quickly. The last time he had counted the gap between flash and rumble had been much longer. He struggled against the wind to close and seal the door on the small barn behind his home.

Inside he could hear his horses knickering restlessly, and he knew instinctively that this night would be bad for Honey Bee. She was jumpy on the best of days, but a storm of this magnitude was bound to put her even more on edge. He just hoped that she didn't hurt herself. Briefly he considered staying with her to keep her calm, but when more thunder rattled his teeth he decided against it. If she panicked, he wasn't strong enough to restrain her by himself. As much as he would hate for her to come to injury, he knew the situation would be worse if she injured him as well. He hoped her sister Seraphim fared better.

Grit and dirt pattered against him once he was out of the limited shelter of the barn he threw an arm up to shield his face as he made his way toward his small cabin. His vision was so limited that he almost missed the sight of the two riders approaching his home at a steady clip. When he did catch sight of them, he stopped and waited but kept his arm up to prevent being blinded by errant debris caught in the wind.

When they got closer, he could see that one of the riders was swaying dangerously in his saddle. The other rider kept reaching out to steady him. Castiel frowned in concern. He was no longer a doctor, but the urge to help those in need had never left him. His concern increased when he saw the dark smear of blood on the shorter rider's shoulder. He had to restrain himself from running forward to help the stranger. Trust was something he could no longer give freely. It was a hard lesson to learn, but an important one.

Instead he stood his ground and waited, gritting his teeth against the bite of the cold autumn wind.

"Hello!" the tall, uninjured rider called once he was close enough to be heard over the oncoming storm. His words, when he continued, had the soft drawl of the South. "Please, sir. My brother's hurt and I just need somewhere warm to keep him until the storm passes." The wind caught the wide brim of his hat, and it would have flown away if it weren't for the string anchoring it around his neck. He had long, shaggy brown hair that was being tossed haphazardly by the wind, and beautifully sculpted features. In the gathering gloom, his eyes looked dark under a brow furrowed with anxious hope.

He didn't look very old. Maybe in his early twenties. His clothes under his long dark duster were worn and tattered, the cloth of his trousers bunched in places where rips had been sewn together by an unskilled hand. It was obvious that he had recently been down on his luck.

Castiel turned his attention to the injured rider, and he sucked in a breath. He couldn't see the man's face because his head lolled forward.. What caught his attention, now that they were close enough for him to see them clearly, was the man's jacket. Where it was not stained with blood, it was grey, with brass buttons, and cut in the lines of a familiar uniform. As a doctor, Castiel had treated soldiers wearing that uniform, although not nearly as many as wore the blue counterpart of the North.

Bitterness seeped into him. He wanted to tell the boy to take his brother to town, to the doctor there. He didn't care for wounded soldiers anymore, and especially not those from the South.

He opened his mouth to do just that, but the injured man looked up. He appeared older than his brother, although it was hard to tell by how much since war aged many men prematurely. He did not wear a hat, and even in the gathering gloom of the storm Castiel could see that his hair was paler than his brothers, bordering on the cusp of light brown and blonde. From this distance, Castiel couldn't make out the color of his eyes, but he could see the strong line of his jaw and the high arch of his brows. His nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken and not set properly, but it only enhanced the straight angles of the rest of his face. The only thing marring his good looks was the frown that sat heavily upon his features.

Castiel felt pinned by the man's hostile stare. Pain and distrust drew deep lines around his mouth and eyes. There was no hope there, only resignation. It was as if he knew Castiel would turn him away, because he expected nothing less.

Had no one ever shown this man kindness?

"Yes," Castiel said, then again, louder to be heard over the storm. "Yes! You are welcome to come in." He gestured toward the barn. "There's room in there for both your horses as well."

The whole time he spoke, the injured man held his gaze. There wasn't even a flicker in his expression.

"Thank you," the younger brother called. He swung a leg over his saddle and dropped to the ground.

The sky chose that moment to open up and icy rain began to pelt them all hard enough to sting. Castiel rushed forward to take the horses' reins, but at the same time the injured brother moved to dismount. He swayed dangerously, and slid out of the saddle. Castiel only had a few seconds to change course and catch him.

An arm, thick with muscle swung up around his neck, and the man looked up. Their gazes met from only inches away, and Castiel could see that his eyes were green. Castiel didn't have long to absorb that information before the man's eyes rolled up in his head, and he slumped into a faint.

"Shit!" the younger brother came rushing around and slipped one shoulder under the comatose man's arm, saving Castiel from collapsing under his weight.

"The horses!" Castiel called over the storm once he had his balance back. "I've got him! You take care of the horses!"

"Are you-?"

"Just go!"

Castiel shifted his grip on the injured man, and started slowly walking him toward the cabin. His jaw clenched tight against the shiver that ran through him as the rain soaked through his clothes. The body against his was burning hot as a furnace, contrasting shockingly against the cold rain.

Castiel cursed under his breath and moved faster. The cold was good for bringing the fever down in the short term, but if the man got sick on top of being wounded, he would definitely be beyond Castiel's ability to help.

By the time he had the man inside the house, Castiel felt like he'd just crawled out of a lake. He left a trail of water on the wood floor as he guided his guest to the bed on the far side of the single room.

The man groaned when Castiel dropped him on the mattress, but didn't otherwise move. Castiel wrestled his legs up onto the bed, ignoring the dirt that smeared across the blanket. Any other time he would be bothered by the mess, but he barely noticed it now because his attention was focused on the bloody wound hidden by the man's clothing. His hands were cold and stiff and it took a few minutes before they warmed up enough to be useful.

He had the man's coat and shirt removed and was probing at the wound when the other brother came in. "How long ago was he shot?" he asked without preamble.

"Early this morning."

"The bullet is lodged in his shoulder," Castiel said. "It has slowed the bleeding, but I am afraid it may be poisoning his blood." He ran his fingers around the reddened skin surrounding the wound. Blood oozed out under just that slight pressure. "He has a chance of surviving if I can get it out quickly. And if he's strong enough to beat this fever." Assuming infection didn't kill him in lieu of blood poisoning. But he didn't say that. There was no need to panic the younger man.

"What can I do to help?"

Castiel gestured to the chest at the foot of the bed. "I have a medical kit in there. Bring it to me please-" he paused and looked up at the younger man questioningly.

"Uh, Sam. Winchester." He stared down at his brother, his brow wrinkled with worry. "He's Dean."

When Sam didn't move, Castiel put a hand on his shoulder. Sam looked up at him, eyes wide like a scared child's. "My name is Castiel James. I am going to take care of your brother."

Sam's eyes widened more, making him look even younger. Then he pressed his lips together and gave a short nod. He rose and went to the chest Castiel had directed him to. When he lifted the lid, he paused for a moment, glancing up at Castiel before reaching down to pick up the medical kit.

Castiel accepted the leatherbound tools with a curt nod of thanks. For a long time, there was only the crackle of the fire Sam built up in the iron stove on the other side of the room and the rattle of rain and wind on the shutters. Castiel worked quickly, losing himself in the familiar motions of digging out the bullet, cleaning the wound, then stitching the ragged edges of skin together. After pulling bullets out of boy soldiers for years in the war, he didn't have to think too hard about what he was doing. The work was finished quickly, and all he had left to do was clean up the mess.

Sam helped him strip Dean down and get him under the blankets. Now that he was no longer performing surgery on the man, Castiel struggled to keep his normal clinical detachment. His eyes kept straying to Dean's body, and he had to turn his attention to the wound in his shoulder to remind himself that this man was injured. He was his patient.

Even if he wasn't, he was off limits.

Castiel had spent the majority of his life only taking small glances at the men he found attractive, hiding his perversions. But Dean's body was beautiful, and he couldn't help the flood of relief he felt once that work-hardened body was finally covered again under a layer of blankets.

The storm outside was still raging, the rain a constant staccato against the closed shutters, and the sky had darkened even further as afternoon faded into evening. Only a single lantern lit the interior of the cabin as Castiel puttered around, cleaning his surgical tools and making a pallet for Sam.

"Thank you for this," Sam said from where he sat next to the bed, watching his brother. "I realize it must be difficult to accept strangers into your home. Especially when one has been shot."

"It does give one pause," Castiel replied as he laid down the blankets that would be his temporary pallet while the patient slept in his bed. He was certainly curious about what had brought the brothers out here rather than heading straight to town, but he had lived in the West long enough to learn that many folks did not like to have their lives questioned. Since he did not tend towards sharing his own past, it was easy to keep his questions to himself.

Apparently secrecy was not Sam's top priority. "My brother and I are bounty hunters" he explained. "But the man we were after discovered who we were. And he employs a lot of men to protect himself."

Castiel straightened, and narrowed his eyes at Sam. Bounty hunters were rarely good news, although he had no reason to fear them, himself. "Who are you after?"

"Dick Roman."

Well that would explain why the brothers had not gone to the town doctor. Roman held the population of Purgatory in his thrall. No one there would help these boys without his blessing. Castiel frowned slightly. If Roman learned that the Winchesters were staying with him, it would make things much more difficult for him than they already were.

Roman had been sending riders to his farm for weeks now trying to bully him into giving up his land. Castiel had so far stood up to him, but he wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to. Eventually it would come to violence. He would be grossly outnumbered, especially since Roman's men had already run off the few boys that Castiel had employed to help him take care of his land. Walking away now was his best option, but he had never been the kind of man to bow down before men like Roman, despite the way odds were stacked against him.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow exhale that took some of his tension with it. Sheltering the Winchesters was going to bring fate knocking at his door sooner than he had planned, but he wasn't going to run.

"I take it that you have problems of your own with Roman?" Sam asked astutely.

Castiel's lips twisted in a wry smile when he turned to face the younger man. "Mr. Roman and I are considerably less than friends."

Sam frowned and shifted in the chair that was much too small for him. "And we've brought you more trouble. I'm sorry. We'll be out of your hair as soon as the storm passes."

"No!" Castiel bit out sharply. At Sam's raised eyebrow, he made an effort to speak in a more level tone. "I can't, in good conscience, allow that. Your brother is not well enough to travel and he may not be for a while."

"But-"

Castiel waved away Sam's protest. "There will probably be consequences for your presence here, but it is a risk I am willing to take. I pulled that bullet out of his shoulder so he would recover. Not so that he can die of infection a few days later because he wasn't properly cared for."

Sam tilted his head curiously at Castiel. His eyes strayed to the chest where the surgical tools had been re-sequestered, then slid back to him. Castiel knew what he would have seen when he'd opened it earlier, but Sam didn't bring it up. "You're a doctor, aren't you?"

"I was," Castiel answered. Suddenly he felt very tired. Thinking about what he had seen during the war always left him feeling as if the weight of each unsaved soul lay heavily on his shoulders. "Not anymore."

Sam watched him for a moment, his expression thoughtful, while Castiel moved to the stove to needlessly poke at the embers inside. "I don't think that's something you can ever quit doing," he said after a moment.

Castiel met the younger man's earnest gaze over his shoulder. His eyes dropped down to view the sleeping form of his patient. "Perhaps you are correct."

They fell into silence. There was not much to do, and night had fallen. When Sam's jaw stretched open on a huge yawn, Castiel gestured toward the pallet on the floor. "Get some rest. I will watch over him."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Sam said through the tail end of his yawn. He shook his head slightly, and blinked his eyes sleepily. "If he wakes up and finds a stranger watching him, he might overreact."

"I can handle him if he wakes," Castiel said. He patted Sam on the shoulder, then nudged him in a silent command to vacate the chair. "You need sleep."

Sam stood, and the room suddenly felt smaller. Castiel was not a small man, but Sam Winchester made him feel as if he were. "What about you?"

"I will wake you after a few hours and you may take my place."

That seemed to satisfy the young man. His head dipped in acquiescence and he moved toward the pallet. Castiel turned his attention away to give Sam a small modicum of privacy.

His eyes landed on the elder Winchester brother. Sinking down into the chair, Castiel studied Dean's face. The features that had been harsh with distrust were now soft with sleep, making him look younger. Castiel wondered how old he actually was. He wondered how long he was in the Rebel army. Had he joined right away and spent years of his life fighting, or had he been conscripted late and only endured a few months before the surrender?

Castiel suspected Dean had volunteered. The war had been over for several years now, and yet he still wore his grey coat. That spoke of a bone deep loyalty. Most men discarded the trappings of war as soon as they were able. Especially those who moved West afterwards. They wanted to forget, and a uniform would bring back many memories.

Memories of his time as a doctor during the war began to peek around the edge of Castiel's thoughts and he quickly redirected his attention in an attempt to avoid them. Instead, he allowed himself to admire the man in his bed. His skin was flushed with fever, making freckles stand out across the bridge of his nose. Long lashes rested against high cheekbones, and stubble shadowed a strong jaw. His lips were full and pink.

Now that there was no one watching him, Castiel let his mind wander where he had not allowed it to earlier. He imagined how those lips would feel against his own, against his skin. In his mind, his own lips followed the trail of freckles, and the line of his throat.

He shook his head at himself. Dean was his patient, and even though Castiel had not been a doctor for many years, these thoughts were still inappropriate. To distract himself, he leaned over the bed and pulled the blanket back to reveal the bandage he had put in place earlier. The cloth was soaked through with blood, but when he lifted the edge, he could see that the bleeding had nearly stopped.

Very quietly he stood and went to where he had placed several rolls of clean bandages and a tin bucket filled with clear water. When he returned to the bed, he found his patient awake and looking up at him.

Dean's green eyes were glassy with fever, but his expression was trusting when their eyes met. He stared up at Castiel calmly, but said nothing.

Castiel finally broke away from the man's intense stare and reached for the bloodied bandage. Still Dean did not speak, although he continued to watch Castiel's every move. He barely twitched during the time his wound was being cleaned and re-wrapped.

It wasn't until Castiel was tying off the new bandage that Dean finally said something. "Who are you?" His voice was a dry croak, and held the same softly lilting accent as his brother.

Grabbing a cup of water from the nearby table, Castiel tipped it to Dean's lips. "Castiel."

Dean drank deeply, and let out a relieved sigh when Castiel removed the cup. His eyes immediately latched onto Castiel again. His voice was clearer when he spoke this time. "Are you an angel?"

The question brought a small smile to Castiel's lips. "Do you believe in angels?"

"No."

"Then why did you ask if I am one?" Castiel couldn't help teasing. It wasn't the first time a patient had asked him that. It always amused him, especially since his mother had named him after an angel. He was a man of faith, and he believed in them. But he never understood why people saw him that way when they were ill. He was just a man, and in no way divine.

"Because you're so beautiful..." The last word was hardly more than a mumble, and Dean's eyes slipped shut. "Dun' know why y'r here for me... 's not like I deserve... it..." He was asleep again.

Castiel sat up straight in the chair. He stared at Dean in consternation, and wondered if he had heard correctly. Beautiful? Him? He had been called handsome before, but never beautiful. And never had he received such a compliment from a man.

He shook his head, mentally sweeping the surprise away. Dean was ill. Fever still burned through him. He was probably still asleep for that exchange, even though his eyes had been open. It was something Castiel saw often among his wounded patients. Delirium often manifested in waking dreams.

Quickly he disposed of the dirty bandages and returned to his seat next to the bed. Their words had been quiet, and Sam still slept. Castiel was not tired, so he decided to continue his vigil for a few more hours before waking the other man.

Some time later, Castiel jerked awake. He rubbed his face and looked around, trying to decide what had awakened him. The cabin was dark other than the lantern he still had burning nearby. The storm still raged outside, although it no longer buffeted the cabin with violent gusts of wind. The shutters only rattled occasionally, and for the most part he could only hear the light patter of rain.

There was a moan, and he jerked around. Dean was moving, struggling against something that wasn't there. His lips moved with unintelligible words, and his brow was furrowed in an agitated frown.

The blankets had slipped down to Dean's waist, and as Castiel sat up straight in his chair, his eyes fell on the scars covering Dean's torso. He'd missed them earlier in his focus on Dean's injury. White lines, and pink puckers marred the skin, and Castiel bit his lip in empathy over the pain those injuries must have caused.

Turning his attention back to Dean's face, Castiel reached out and laid a hand on his forehead. Dean's skin was hotter than it was before, and dry. It was not a good sign.

Dean suddenly lashed out, sweeping Castiel's hand away. He let out a wordless shout and thrashed again, arching his back away from the bed and rolling onto his injured shoulder. He hissed and jerked back the other way, entangling himself further in the blankets.

The commotion woke Sam, and he jolted up from his bedroll. "What's wrong? What's happening?"

"He's going to hurt himself," Castiel barked out in a commanding tone which he'd had little need to use since the war. "Help me hold him still."

"That may make him panic worse," Sam said, but he followed Castiel's orders anyway. He rested his weight over Dean's legs while Castiel tried to capture his arms. "He doesn't take well to being restrained."

Something ominous laced Sam's words, and Castiel spared him a look. Their eyes met, and understanding passed between them. "We need to calm him down or he'll pull out his stitches and make things worse," he muttered over Dean's strangled shouts and growls.

He tried not to listen to the few intelligible words Dean spit out but it was difficult. From what little he caught, combined with the scars he had observed, Castiel surmised that Dean had an intimate knowledge of torture, and he was alternating between begging and threats. It made him wonder what experiences the man was reliving in his delirium.

"Sing to him," Sam said suddenly. "He loves music."

This time the look Castiel threw his direction was incredulous. "Me?"

Sam's grin was half grimace. Instead of answering, he starting singing a familiar hymn. Sam's voice was slightly off tune, but he kept at it until Dean suddenly slumped onto the bed.

Dean's lips moved, but no sound escaped them. Castiel couldn't help but watch his mouth though. It was hard to tell, but he thought Dean may have been trying to sing along. His lips stilled before Sam finished the song, and while he still frowned and twitched, he was no longer thrashing.

Castiel and Sam let him go, and Dean seemed to relax further. The creases in his brow faded and he breathed a little easier.

A quick check revealed that Dean hadn't ripped his stitches, but in the dim light, Castiel could see that the skin around the wound was and angry red. There didn't appear to be any lines creeping away from it, but it still looked bad. "He has an infection."

"What?" Sam had stood up, but at Castiel's words he bent back over the bed, looming over Castiel's shoulder to look at his brother's wound.

Castiel held the bandage back and with his free hand pointed to the inflamed skin. "This is not good, Sam. If I don't do something about this soon…" he let the words trail off as he thought.

Infection was just as much to blame for the dead soldiers in his care as the bullets being blasted into them by the opposing army. It almost always won the battle for his patients' lives, and he hated that he could do so little to stop its spread.

"There must be something you can do," Sam urged.

Castiel chewed his bottom lip as he thought. He needed to pull the poison from the wound. "There may be something." He looked up into Sam's hopeful eyes. "I need cold water. And boiling water, as well."

Sam nodded, then looked up at the ceiling where the steady drum of rain beat down. "That shouldn't be a problem."

The cold water was much easier to obtain than the hot water. Sam had filled every available container with rain water while Castiel began heating more on the stove. Every minute it took for the water to boil, Castiel could practically feel Dean slipping away behind him. He knew that wasn't how it worked, but the worry was there in the back of his mind anyway. Time was of the essence, but allowing himself to be rushed could make things worse.

Once the water was hot he filled a pail with it and took it to the bedside. He went to the chest at the foot of his bed and dug around until he pulled out a full bottle of whiskey. He did not drink often, but he kept it around for medical purposes. He shooed Sam away, directing him to get more water heating on the stove, then poured a large portion of the alcohol in the hot water. Carefully, he removed the bandage from Dean's shoulder. He dipped clean cloth into the hot water, hissing at the pain in his fingers. Then he carefully placed the cloth over the wound.

Dean howled.

Sam came rushing back, just in time to help Castiel subdue the injured man. He only calmed again when the cloth cooled to the point where steam no longer rose from it. Castiel let go of Dean's torso, and removed the wet cloth. Quickly he replaced it with another one, this time dipped in the cold rain water also treated with alcohol.

Dean's reaction to the cold cloth was not nearly as violent although he did shrink away from it. Goose flesh spread over his heated skin, and he whimpered but he didn't need to be restrained. Castiel didn't leave the cloth for long because it soaked up the heat from Dean's skin quickly, and he wished for a moment that it was already winter so he could pack the cloth with snow instead. As soon as he removed the cloth, he replaced it with another steaming cloth.

After what felt like days, but was probably only just over an hour, Castiel noticed that the swelling around the wound seemed to have lessened. The blood that had been oozing dark and thick from the torn flesh was now a lighter shade. It looked fresher and thinner. Dean still whimpered with each exchange of the cloth, but he no longer fought them.

Finally Castiel ended the treatment. Dean was still unconscious, breathing hard, brow furrowed. But his coloring looked better.

"Do you think it helped?" Sam asked quietly as he helped Castiel clean up the used rags.

"I have no idea," Castiel said honestly. "There is a possibility that I have put him through unnecessary suffering and did absolutely nothing to heal him." He looked at Sam. "I pray that is not the case."

Sam pressed his lips together and nodded his understanding.

Castiel hurt. Bending over the bed to treat Dean had been unforgiving on his back. He knuckled the base of his spine and stretched, letting out a soft groan.

"You should get some sleep," Sam said gently. "I can keep an eye on him."

He wanted to protest, but he knew he needed his rest. "All right," he agreed quietly. He gave Sam a list of symptoms to watch for that would indicate that Dean had taken a turn for the worse, insisting that he be awakened if any of them occurred.

It was only after several reassurances from Sam that he would wake Castiel if Dean needed his attention that he finally crawled fully clothed into the pallet that the younger man had vacated earlier. Exhaustion quickly drew him into sleep.

He woke later to the feel of a large hand on his shoulder and the smell of coffee. The room was almost completely dark other than light leaking around the shutters and the lamp still burning near the bed. Rolling onto his back he found Sam looming over him. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the last dregs of sleep. "Is your brother all right?"

"Still sleeping at the moment," Sam answered as Castiel sat up on the pallet. "I managed to get a little bit of sleep in the chair," he grinned slightly at Castiel's pained expression, "because he's been quiet for a while."

"Then why did you wake me?" Castiel asked. It came out harsher than he intended, but he was never all that fond of mornings.

Sam tilted his head toward the front of the cabin. "I was outside, checking on the horses. I saw riders coming."

Castiel shot up in bed. "Did they see you?"

"I don't think so," Sam said. He moved back to give Castiel room to get up. "They were far enough out that if they did see me, hopefully they'll think it was you."

Well that would be a small blessing. Castiel scrambled out of the pallet. He was fully clothed other than his boots which he pulled on, grimacing because they were still damp from the rain. By the time he was ready, he could hear the approaching horses outside.

"Do you want me to go out there with you?" Sam asked. His brows were furrowed with worry again, an expression that reminded Castiel of a small dog his fiancé Anna had owned that always looked like it was afraid of displeasing you.

"I believe it would be best if you stay hidden for now," Castiel replied as he moved toward the door. He looked back only once to confirm Sam understood the order before he opened it and stepped outside.

Sunlight was just barely cresting over the mountains, giving the small clearing in which he lived a soft golden glow. The mounted men halted their horses close enough that they could be heard when they spoke. Their leader was a man Castiel recognized as Purgatory's sheriff.

"Good morning, Mr. James," the sheriff said with a tight smile.

"Edgar," Castiel greeted simply. The man had never provided a last name, which always made him seem somewhat sinister. He did, of course, live up to Castiel's expectations in that regard. He tilted his head curiously and surveyed his mounted guests. "I did not expect you this morning. You usually visit on Mondays."

Edgar's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid this is not a social call." Castiel had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. Edgar's visits were never so simple. "We are looking for two men. They were seen riding this direction when they left town yesterday."

"I have not seen anyone since your last visit," Castiel said. It was a bald faced lie, which is something he had never excelled at. He stared at Edgar steadily, praying that he came across convincingly.

The other man stared down at him for a long second. "Are you sure, Mr. James?" The words sounded friendly, but Edgar's expression belied the tone.

"I believe I would remember having visitors in the last twenty four hours," Castiel said with a shrug. "Maybe they became lost in the storm."

"Perhaps," Edgar replied almost absently. "If you do see them, you should be careful. They are killers."

The irony of that warning coming from Dick Roman's toady was not lost on Castiel, but he did not say anything about it. Instead he nodded respectfully. "Thank you for the warning, Sheriff."

"That's not the only warning I come bearing today, Mr. James." Edgar's dark eyes bored into him. "Mr. Roman is becoming impatient with you."

"He could solve that by giving up," Castiel said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Edgar's lips twitched up in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The same could be said for you, my friend."

They were not friends, and never would be. But Castiel merely smiled politely. They stared each other down for several more moments before Edgar finally conceded with a tilt of his head and a finger touched to the brim of his hat. The badge pinned to the lapel of his coat glinted in the early morning sunlight.

"Good day, Mr. James. Until next week."

Castiel didn't speak. He stood his ground until the riders were nearly out of sight, then turned to go back in the cabin.

Sam stood up from where he had been crouched by a window, a loaded gun in his hand. The wide-eyed worried expression even more pronounced than before. "What was that about?"

"Mr. Roman wants my land." Castiel crossed the room to check on his patient. "He has been sending his men to try and intimidate me into selling it for far less than it is worth." He placed a hand on Dean's forehead, frowning over the fact that his temperature was still so high.

"I'm surprised you haven't done it." Sam tucked his gun back into it's holster, and settled the rolled up gun belt back on the saddle bags that he must have brought in while Castiel was asleep. There were also two rifles and a long, sheathed blade settled next to the bags.

The sight of those weapons probably should have made Castiel nervous, especially with Edgar's warning still ringing in his ears. But despite their short relationship, Castiel trusted Sam. The young man had only asked for shelter on a rainy night. He and his brother probably would have passed on and left him in peace if it hadn't been for the storm.

And Dean would have died, or been closer to it. Not that he was out of the woods yet.

He realized he hadn't answered Sam and looked up at him. The short answer he had prepared died on his lips, and he found himself answering truthfully. "When the war ended, I thought all I needed was to be home to find happiness. But when I returned to the house I had lived in with my family in Philadelphia it was not the same." He settled down in the chair next to the bed, and turned to look at Dean as he spoke. "The nightmares followed me home. My family could not console me, and I no longer found comfort in the company of my friends or my fiancé. So I decided to leave. I was no longer looking for happiness, but simply for peace. I found it in Purgatory, and I have been here ever since."

Sam snorted softly. "Having the local Land Baron trying to oust you out of your home can't be peaceful."

Castiel looked back up at Sam and his lips lifted in a small smile. "No, not exactly. But I have been told I have a stubborn streak as wide as the Mississippi." It was something he heard a lot. As a doctor he'd saved many patients that others had given up on due to sheer stubbornness and force of will.

Sam's laugh lit up his whole being. "You have something in common with my brother, then. I am looking forward to watching you butt heads when he wakes up and decides he wants to get out of bed."

Looking down at the sleeping man in his bed to hide his worry, Castiel nodded. "If he is as stubborn as I am, it should be an interesting confrontation." And it would mean that Dean was still alive.

Sam, apparently more of a morning person than Castiel, began puttering around the cabin. He poured Castiel a cup of coffee, which tasted much better than what Castiel ever managed on his own. He offered to make breakfast, and when he learned that Castiel had chickens, he was soon out of the house to visit the coop. They were low on firewood, so he also offered to chop some before he came inside.

In the silence of the cabin, broken only by the steady thunk of an axe blade against wood, Dean's ragged breathing seemed loud. Castiel leaned his head back on his shoulders and let the sound lull him.

"You're back."

The sound of Dean's voice made him jerk upright in the chair. He saw that Dean's head was tilted in his direction on the thin pillow, eyes open again and staring blearily at Castiel. He leaned closer to the bed, noticing that those green eyes followed him trustingly. It was a far cry from the hostile expression he'd worn when they first met. "I never left," he said in response to Dean's raspy words.

"Were y'watching me sleep?" Dean asked. He smiled, and while it was just a small curve of his lips, Castiel found it nearly blinding. "That's kinda creepy. Even if y'are an angel."

Castiel didn't bother correcting him. He suspected Dean wasn't fully awake. "How do you feel?" he asked instead.

A frown marred Dean's features, but he didn't look away. "Hot," he rasped. "Thirsty."

Those were things Castiel could definitely help with. He quickly poured a cup of water, and held it to Dean's dry lips. Dean drank greedily, until the cup was drained. Then he let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. "Thanks, Cas," he mumbled. His breathing evened out, and he was asleep again.

Castiel smiled at the shortened name. He hadn't been sure Dean would remember him at all. Of course, he still thought Castiel was an angel, but at least he wasn't completely delirious.

Unfortunately, Dean's condition did not improve throughout the day. In fact, it became worse. Often he and Sam would have to hold the thrashing man down as he screamed and tried to escape something unseen by the other two men. He would babble incoherently, for hours on end. Castiel only caught pieces of information. A name, Alistair, was shouted and whispered and whimpered in different tones of fear and loathing.

This Alistair had clearly hurt Dean, and Castiel burned with curiosity. But when he turned to Sam on one occasion to ask, the younger brother's pained expression convinced Castiel that he didn't know what his brother was reliving either.

During Dean's quiet moments, Sam and Castiel would speak. Sam told of his strict father and extended family, making Castiel laugh with stories about his adopted cousin Jo and her romantic pursuit of Dean when she was barely waist high. When Castiel asked why his stories did not include mention of his mother, the younger man's voice grew quiet. He told Castiel of her death, but no details, and Castiel didn't push, understanding that it was a sensitive topic.

Castiel told Sam about his rigidly religious family, how he was practically raised by his eldest brother Michael, and constantly hazed by his middle brother Gabriel. Sam had laughed and commiserated with him over being the youngest brother.

They spoke of school. Sam had started his education at a Northern university despite the war, although he had left and moved West with his father and his brother after General Lee's surrender. Castiel enjoyed having discussions of books with someone educated. It had been a long while since he had been able to.

Over the course of the day, Castiel learned that he had been right to trust this Winchester brother. They were quickly becoming fast friends.

Unfortunately that realization was shadowed by the fact that Dean's condition was worsening. By evening Castiel knew that the infection was spreading. When he checked under the bandage he could see lines of red tracing away from the wound again. When he cleaned the bullet hole in Dean's skin the cloth came away with yellowish streaks.

"That isn't good is it?" Sam asked, looking over Castiel's shoulder.

"No," Castiel admitted quietly. "I was able to get the bullet out, but I'm afraid something else may still be inside him. Maybe cloth from his shirt."

"What are you going to do?"

Castiel heard the fear in the younger man's voice, and felt it echo inside himself. This is exactly why he had quit practicing. He was losing another patient, and it was devastating. He stared down at the wound as he cleaned it, then glanced at Dean's face. A slowly burning determination began to fill him.

Despite their ties to the South, Castiel cared what happened to them. He wanted to see Dean's eyes when they were not glazed with fever. He wanted to see Sam's dimpled smile when he realized his brother would be alright.

He wanted to save this life, just to prove that he wasn't a failure.

"Get me my surgical tools," he said.

Sam didn't question him. He immediately moved to the chest where the tools were stored. Castiel stepped away from the bed, throwing the dirty cloth he held into a nearby bucket filled with used bandages waiting to be boiled. There was already water heating on the stove, and he used it to wash his hands. Then he washed his instruments when Sam brought them to him. He'd been sure they were clean when he'd removed the bullet from Dean's shoulder, but he wasn't going to take any chances this time.

Once he was ready, he sent Sam out to get more water. He didn't want the young man hovering over him, breaking his concentration.

The first step was removing the stitches, which was accomplished with the snip of small scissors. Then he cut into Dean's shoulder, digging back into the festering wound.

Castiel did not want to cause the man any further pain, but Dean didn't stir. It was a small blessing despite being a sign that his health was taking a sharp turn for the worse.

By the time Sam returned, Castiel had found what he was looking for. A small wedge of cloth had gotten caught in the wound. He removed it, but continued to probe a little further, careful to make sure he got all of it this time.

Then it was a matter of cleaning out the wound. Castiel treated it again with a hot alcohol solution alternated with cold water to bring down the swelling. Dean still didn't react other than a few full body twitches and the occasional moan.

Castiel began to pray. It was something he had not done for a long time because his faith had been damaged during the war. But at this point he knew that he had exhausted his medical skills, and Dean's life was now in God's hands.

That night passed much as the first had, with Castiel and Sam taking turns watching over Dean's sleeping form. Only now they constantly bathed his bare limbs with cold water in an attempt to bring down the fever. Castiel had made a tea with some willow bark, and they did their best to get as much of it down Dean's throat as possible.

Sometime in the morning, when the sky was beginning lighten, Castiel checked Dean's wound and found that it was no longer as inflamed as it had been. Dean still burned with fever, but not as hot as before. It gave him hope, and when Sam took over bedside duties, Castiel was able to fall into an easier sleep.

It took two days before Castiel knew Dean was starting to make a recovery. The wound no longer looked so painfully swollen, and the red lines that had started to creep from it before the second surgery had disappeared. On the evening of the second day, Dean's fever finally broke. His skin, which had been paper dry, broke out with sweat, and when Castiel touched fingers to his forehead it was cool to the touch.

"He's going to be alright, isn't he?" The small thread of hope in Sam's voice made him sound very young. Seeing his brother come so close to death had been wearing at him.

"I believe so," Castiel replied quietly. And it was not a platitude, like the many he had given patients' families in years past. It was the simple truth. The bullet wound on Dean's shoulder was starting to heal, looking pink and healthy around the edges. And as long as the fever didn't return, Dean was on his way to recovery.

Sam was out in the barn caring for the horses the next time Dean woke up. Castiel had the shutters thrown open, letting the cool autumn breeze flush out the stale cabin air, and was humming softly to himself while he rolled up clean bandages. He was startled out of his thoughts by a rough voice behind him.

"Who the hell are you, and where the hell am I?"

Castiel spun around to find Dean sitting up in the bed, the hostile glare from their first meeting firmly in place. His heart sank a little when there was no flicker of recognition in the other man's eyes. He made an effort to keep his tone light. "Hello, Dean. I'm glad you're awake."

Dean's brows drew together sharply. "You gonna answer my question?"

His voice was hoarse and raw, so Castiel set down the bandage in his hand and moved to pour a cup of water. He approached the bed and held it out, trying not to be offended at the distrustful look Dean flicked at it before meeting Castiel's gaze again. "I'm sorry you don't remember me," Castiel said truthfully. "My name is Castiel. I've been taking care of you while you were sick."

Dean raised one eyebrow, and Castiel realized he'd only answered half of the question. "You're in my cabin. My farm is a half day's ride outside of Purgatory." His tongue always wanted to trip over the town's name. It was a very ominous title for a beautiful town surrounded by lush mountains. But during the winter months, it got cold enough that sometimes he understood why people had named the town after a place of suffering. "Sam brought you here."

Dean relaxed slightly at the mention of his brother. He grunted acknowledgement and finally reached out for the cup Castiel offered him. His hands shook slightly and his green eyes shot up to pin Castiel with a glare, daring him to say anything.

Castiel remained silent, watching Dean carefully as he drank, ready to step forward and assist if he was needed. It was not a difficult task, watching Dean. Despite his obvious weakness, Dean was still stunningly handsome. His chest had been bared when he sat up, and the blanket was pooled around his waist, giving Castiel access to watch the muscles in his torso flex and ripple under scarred skin as he moved.

"Anyone ever tell you staring is rude?" Dean drawled when he finished drinking.

Castiel blinked and looked away. He felt his cheeks warm with chagrin at his impoliteness. "My apologies," he said.

"Calm down, Cas." Dean's voice held an edge of teasing. And there was that nickname again, thrown out so casually, yet doing strange things to the pattern of Castiel's heartbeat. "I can't fault you for having good taste."

This brought Castiel's attention back to Dean. Had his admiration been that obvious? Dean's smirk said that it was.

Castiel wondered exactly how embarrassed he would have to be to turn from red to purple.

One green eye dropped shut in a wink, and Castiel's brain screeched to a halt. He didn't even realize he was staring again until Dean chuckled and held out the tin cup, asking for more water. Seizing on the excuse to look away, Castiel took it and turned his back on the other man to refill it.

"Where's Sammy?" Dean asked from behind him.

"He is caring for the horses," Castiel answered. By the time he faced Dean again, he felt composed on the outside, if not on the inside. "He insisted that I am not allowed to help since I have been nursing you back to health."

Dean accepted the tin cup and sipped at it. Favoring his wounded side, he shifted until his legs were crossed under him, and leaned against the wall. That small amount of movement seemed to wind him and he closed his eyes for a moment as he tilted his head back to rest on the wood as well. A small smile played around his lips. "He probably just didn't want you to get near Ruby. That horse is a mean little cuss, and she's likely to take a bite out of anyone who goes near her besides him."

Castiel had noticed Ruby's temperament the first time he'd come near her and he'd just barely avoided a bite. His own mares were much easier to deal with, thankfully.

Honey Bee had a sweet temper, she just startled easily. Otherwise she had simple needs. He rarely rode her anymore unless he needed to take a trip into town. For the most part she spent her days in a fenced in area watching him work in the garden and running laps when she was feeling particularly frisky. He just had to make sure she was fed and groomed, and she was happy. Seraphim was the calmest horse he'd ever seen, but she loved to run. If he didn't take her out every few days for a race down the road, she got grumpy and she'd nip at him.

Taking care of his own horse had been something he didn't learn to do until the war started, and he wondered sometimes why his horses even put up with him. He doubted he cared for them as well as the grooms from his brother's estate did. At least when he'd still had hired hands, the mares had each received more attention. "It is probably for the best anyway," he said as he went back to rolling bandages to prevent himself from staring inappropriately at his patient again. "He seems to do better with animals than I do." Castiel was much better at gardening, which is why he turned his little plot of land into a farm rather than a ranch as his oldest brother often suggested in his frequent letters.

Dean didn't answer, and when Castiel looked over his shoulder he saw that he had fallen asleep. His chin rested on his chest, and the cup was cradled in his lap. Castiel smiled at the image, and stood to retrieve the cup, pleased to find that it was empty. Getting liquids into Dean had been difficult. He hoped that when he woke again, Dean would be ready for some food. Gently, Castiel nudged Dean until he slumped back onto the bed, then pulled the blanket back up over his shoulders.

The next time Dean woke, Castiel was outside. Sam had taken over watching his brother, and Castiel had taken the opportunity to stretch his legs. He walked through his garden, touching leaves and turning vegetables to check for ripeness. He carried a basket with him, filling it as he went. The storm that had come with the Winchesters had been a sign that autumn would be early this year and the garden told the same story. There were already trees turning gold in the foothills around his tiny valley, as well. In a few days he would need to begin harvesting what he had grown, or risk it rotting and going to waste.

When he returned to the cabin, he saw that Dean was awake and sitting up again. He and Sam were speaking in low tones, so Castiel could not hear them. But whatever they were discussing had made Dean angry. His jaw was set in a hard line, and his brow lowered dangerously, and Castiel tried not to find that attractive.

They both looked around when Castiel came in the door.

"Is it true?" Dean demanded. Then clarified. "Roman's trying to scare you off your land?"

Surprised by the topic, Castiel took a moment to walk across the room and set the basket down. When he turned back to the brothers, Dean was scowling at him impatiently. "Yes," he answered. "But you do not need to concern-"

"That son of a bitch!" Dean growled. His glare swung back to Sam. "Crowley was right. That bastard is a god damned thief!"

That caught Castiel's full attention. Crowley owned Purgatory's largest saloon, and he was deep in Dick Roman's pockets.

"Look, Dean. Crowley can't be trusted. He-"

Sam was cut off when Dean threw a hand up. "He's trying to help people, Sammy!"

"He's trying to help himself. He's half the problem, Dean."

The brothers broke off and glared at each other. This was obviously an argument they had had before.

Dean suddenly looked very tired, and he turned away from his brother. "We need to get Dad out here. He'll help us with Roman."

"We were just here for a bounty, and we lost out on it when we were caught. It's not our responsibility to save this town, Dean."

But Dean didn't answer. He slumped back in the bed. By his movements, Castiel suspected he wanted to roll until his back was to his brother, but he couldn't because of his injury.

Sam sighed and stood. He cast an apologetic look in Castiel's direction before he left, long strides carrying him quickly through the door.

Castiel stared at the closed portal for a moment before turning back to the vegetables he had brought inside. He took out several ears of corn and began to husk them, throwing the leaves in the same bucket that had previously held dirty bandages a few days before. His thoughts centered on the Winchesters' conversation.

Purgatory was suffering because of Dick Roman. His land was expanding, but the town was shrinking as more and more families were forced out by his heavy handed actions. Even if Castiel did not sell his land, eventually he might find himself needing to leave merely because the town died.

"We can help, you know."

Castiel looked up and found Dean watching him. The hostility that Dean had shown him on their first meeting and again when he first woke was gone. Castiel suspected Dean's original distrust was because he didn't know if Castiel was one of Roman's men or not. Despite not knowing Dean very well, Castiel found his trust comforting. It seemed odd to him that Dean's approval was that important to him, but he didn't dwell on it. He considered Sam his friend, so by extension Dean was his friend as well.

"Why do you want to help?" Castiel asked curiously, turning his attention back to his hands so he wouldn't stare at Dean as he had before. He could understand why the Winchester brothers would want to collect their bounty on Roman. But this conversation had turned to something much more altruistic.

"I never did like seeing an injustice," Dean said quietly. "It burns my hide to see so many good people bending over for an asshole like Roman."

Castiel smiled at the corn in his hands. The rough language would normally have bothered him, but it amused him coming from Dean. It was a clear contrast to Sam's good manners, and he suspected that Dean _knew_ manners and just refused to use them. "You are a good man, Dean Winchester."

There was a snort from the other man's direction. "Yeah, Cas, you think that now. But you don't know me."

Which was true. Castiel only knew what Sam had told him. And it was obvious he idolized his older brother. He looked up at Dean and studied him thoughtfully. Dean frowned at the attention but Castiel spoke before he could protest. "I assume you were shot by one of Roman's men?" he asked.

Dean looked perplexed at the question. "Well I didn't shoot myself."

"Of course not. The angle is wrong." Castiel smiled at Dean's puff of surprised laughter. He finished husking the corn and set it in a pot of water over the stove. Then he picked up some peas and began shucking them as well, dropping the small green orbs into a bowl. "Why did they shoot you?" he asked, attention on his busy fingers.

"You mean on top of the fact that I was there to arrest their boss? I called 'em a bunch of yellow-belly cowards for not standing up to him."

"Dean," Castiel admonished, looking up from his work. "That was quite rude."

"What are you, my mother?" Dean grumbled. He had sat back up and maneuvered himself with his back against the wall again "I hate to tell you this, Cas, but I'm a big boy and I can take care of myself."

Castiel looked pointedly at the bandage wrapped around Dean's shoulder. "Undoubtedly."

This pulled another short bark of laughter from the other man. He groaned when it shook his shoulder but his grin didn't fade. "You're alright, Cas."

The compliment made Castiel blush again and he turned his attention back to his hands. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean managed to stay awake long enough to eat some of the stew Castiel prepared for dinner. His appetite had come back, and he gulped down two helpings before falling back into a deep sleep.

Sam had dragged the chair back over to the small table and began to carefully clean the guns he and Dean owned. Castiel sat across from him, writing a response to a letter from his brother Michael. So far he had not told his brother about the problems he was experiencing, but now he thought maybe he should. He lifted his head and watched Sam for a moment before speaking.

"Dean believes you can help the people of Purgatory." It wasn't a question. Dean seemed to have complete faith that they could do it, and Castiel believed him.

Sam sighed and set down the Colt revolver he'd been reassembling. He leaned back in his chair and regarded Castiel warily. "Dean believes we can take Roman down, but we'd need help. He's too well protected and we can't get near him."

Castiel tilted his head. "Help from whom?"

"Our father is a Federal Marshall," Sam answered. "With his support and maybe some backup gunmen, we could get him."

Castiel nodded his understanding, but then frowned as another question occurred to him. "How were you planning on getting close to Mr. Roman in the first place?"

"We posed as gunmen for hire. He was looking for more men to protect him from people in the town who were jealous of his wealth." Sam rolled his eyes. "It didn't take us long to figure out how things really were. And while it's true, we're bounty hunters, we _do_ have a few ethics."

Turning back to his half-written letter, Castiel chewed his pen thoughtfully. Sam went back to cleaning the guns.

"I could go get my father," Sam said after a few minutes of silence. "If you take care of Dean while he heals, I could leave tomorrow."

Castiel looked up, surprised. "You would do that?"

Sam smiled at him, dimples in full evidence. "You saved my brother's life. The least I can do is help save your home."

Looking over at the sleeping Winchester brother, Castiel murmured "He will be angry with you for leaving him behind." He didn't know how he knew, but he could already picture Dean's angry scowl when he found out Sam had gone without him.

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, he'll be pissed. Think you can handle him?"

Taking care of patients in the army hospitals had certainly given him experience on dealing with surly men who didn't like to take orders. "I believe I can." He turned his focus back to Sam. "I would have helped you anyway." He ignored the pang of guilt in his gut when he remembered that he'd come close to turning them away.

"I know," Sam replied. "Which is why we're going to return the favor."

Watching Sam leave the next morning left Castiel feeling a strange mixture of hope and anxiety, along with the knowledge that he was going to miss the young man's company although they had only known each other for a few days.

Standing in front of his cabin and watching the sun come up, Castiel finally admitted to himself that while he found peace in his home, it was a little lonely. When he'd first arrived in Purgatory the townspeople had been friendly. But when Roman had started putting pressure on people, many of those he considered friends had left. Few remained, and he felt uncomfortable visiting them while Roman had his eye on Castiel's land. He felt he needed to be home to protect it. Unexplained fire had already driven away at least two families that he knew of, and he did not relish the idea of experiencing the same "accident".

The sound of the door shutting behind him when he went inside woke Dean. He sat up and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Mornin', Cas."

"Good morning, Dean. Would you like some coffee?" Not waiting for an answer, Castiel crossed to the stove where the last pot of Sam's delicious coffee still sat. As he poured a cup for Dean he silently berated himself for not asking Sam's secret before he left.

"Yeah," Dean grunted. "And some food would be good. I'm starving."

Castiel brought him the cup, and Dean took it carefully to avoid burning his fingers on the metal. "I can have breakfast ready soon. Would you like some eggs?"

Dean nodded as he sipped his coffee. His green eyes darted around, looking more alert than they had since Castiel had first seen them. "Sounds great, Cas." He paused, then looked up at Castiel. "Sammy outside?"

Sam had decided to leave without telling his brother to prevent him from trying to talk him out of it. Castiel turned away and gathered up the basket he used to collect eggs. He spoke plainly, knowing there was no use lying. "He left. He's going to fetch your father."

"That son of a bitch!" Dean yelped. Out of the corner of his eye Castiel saw Dean cringe and look up. "Sorry, mama," he whispered. Then his green-eyed glare was fixed on Castiel again. "How could you let him leave without me?"

"Easily." Castiel faced Dean squarely and ran his eyes over the other man's frame. "You are in no condition to travel."

"That's bullshit!" Dean protested. He tossed the blankets back, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. "I'm perfectly-" his words cut off as his legs wobbled and he collapsed back on the bed, barely holding onto the hot coffee cup.

Carefully not looking down at Dean's bare body, Castiel lifted an eyebrow and regarded him silently.

Dean glared up at him. "You go to hell," he grumbled before pulling the blanket back over his nudity. Like a petulant child he crossed his arms over his chest, fingers still wrapped tight around his cup, and looked away from Castiel. "Is that why you're keeping me naked? So I can't escape?"

Castiel resisted the urge to point out that he hardly needed to keep Dean a captive because his own weakness was what put him back in the bed. "I thought it would be best to wait until you were well enough to bathe before you dressed," he said casually. "Less laundry to wash, that way."

Dean made a disgusted sound, and uncrossed his arms so he could finish his coffee. "I hate it that you're reasonable."

"One of us should be," Castiel quipped.

Dean rolled his eyes, the movement shifting his head and shoulders as well. Now that he was awake, it was fascinating to see how he communicated with his entire body. Every word was accompanied by motion, and Castiel found it difficult to pull his eyes away.

He cleared his throat and stepped toward the door. "I will return shortly, Dean." He could almost swear he heard soft laughter following him out to the chicken coop.

After breakfast, Dean looked sleepy again, but he had a stubborn set to his jaw that said he wasn't ready to sleep even if his body still needed it. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

Dean looked down at himself, then back up at Castiel. "This bed is starting to stink as badly as I am. Think I could get a bath and maybe we could change the sheets?"

It was a good idea, but Castiel worried about Dean's flagging strength. He tilted his head, considering his patient thoughtfully. "If you agree to let me do most of the work, I believe that can be arranged."

Something about his words made Dean grin. There was a wicked slant to it that made Castiel nervous. "You gonna give me a sponge bath, Doc?"

Castiel frowned. "If you need my assistance I will. It wouldn't be the first time."

The grin widened. "Did you enjoy it?"

Again, Castiel's face flamed at Dean's teasing. "You were ill, Dean. It was necessary-"

Dean barked out a laugh. "Whoa, boy. I'm just give you hell."

Clearly. Castiel glared, but Dean's grin didn't falter in the slightest.

Dean arched an eyebrow at him. "Well? We gonna do this, or what?" He scratched at the short beard that he'd grown while unconscious.

Sighing, Castiel nodded and stood from the table. He pulled a copper tub from behind the stove and settled it in the center of the room. Then he rummaged through the chest at the foot of his bed until he had a spare nightshirt in hand. "It will take some time to heat the water," he said, handing the garment to Dean, and taking his empty coffee cup. "But in the meantime I can change the bedding if you get up."

Dean took the nightshirt, giving it a dubious look. "I'd rather stay naked."

The idea of Dean wandering around the small cabin in the nude nearly gave Castiel a panic attack. Because of this, his retort was sharper than he intended. "If you catch a chill after I have spent days bringing you back from the brink of death, I will not just let you die, Dean Winchester. I will kill you myself to save more wasted time."

Dean's eyes widened. "Wow, Cas. You're actually a little bit scary when you're pissed."

He was not "pissed" as Dean so crassly put it. He was frustrated, and Dean's teasing was only making it worse. He had no doubt that his attraction to the other man was causing him to misinterpret his words, and he was trying very hard to take them at face value. But having Dean actually naked and within touching distance was playing havoc with his mind.

It had been easier when he was unconscious. It had been easier when Sam was there to give Castiel someone else to focus on. Without those wards in place, Castiel was struggling.

"Just get dressed, Dean."

Dean huffed out a put upon sigh, but finally pulled the cloth over his head. "I'm going to look like my grandpa." Once he had it on, he stood up. He wobbled slightly but managed to stay upright this time. Holding his arms out to his sides, he gave Castiel a challenging look. "Happy now?"

Dean did not look like a grandfather. The night shirt was made of thin, soft cotton and it molded itself to Dean's body wherever it lay. Castiel swallowed in an attempt to re-moisten his mouth, and gestured to the table. "Sit down, Dean. I'll take care of the rest."

To Castiel's grateful surprise, Dean did as he was told. But from the slump of his shoulders, Castiel suspected it was more because of exhaustion than any fear of consequences.

Castiel made quick work of stripping the bed, and remaking it with spare bedding. It was the last clean bedding and he would need to launder what was left soon while it was still warm enough to do so. Heating enough water to fill the copper hip bath took more time, and Dean had slumped over and fallen asleep on his crossed arms by the time the tub was full enough to accommodate him.

When Castiel touched his shoulder, Dean opened his eyes sleepily, blinking a few times before lifting his head. He smiled, a soft and tender expression that Castiel recognized from when he was delirious and asking if he was an angel. "Is it bath time?" he mumbled.

Throat suddenly tight, Castiel only nodded.

Dean pushed himself up from the table, steadying himself against it with one hand. With the other, he tugged at the hem of the nightshirt. "Help me with this, will you?"

He wanted to say no. He definitely wanted to say yes. He wanted to pull that nightshirt off, and spread Dean out on the clean bed linens and look his fill.

He reached out and helped Dean lift it over his head. Staying firmly behind Dean, he refused to look any lower than Dean's freckled shoulders.

Dean shuffled to the tub, and nearly lost his balance when he lifted a foot to step into it. Castiel caught him and helped him, not letting go until Dean was seated, knees curled up against his chest, water lapping around his waist. Dean leaned his head forward and rested it on his knees. "Damn. This may be more than I was ready for."

His voice was low, and slurred with exhaustion. Castiel could see his whole body slump, and knew he would need assistance. "Just relax," he said. "I'll take care of you."

Dean answered with a shrug of his shoulders, and Castiel took it as permission to proceed. He grabbed a rag, one of the ones recently boiled clean of Dean's blood, and dipped it into the tub near the other man's hip. He had grabbed a chunk of soap, and used it with the cloth to build a lather. It wasn't high quality soap, but it wasn't harsh lye either. The scent was clean and made his nose tingle as he swiped the soapy cloth over Dean's shoulders.

Dean made a low noise and relaxed even further. Castiel tried to separate himself from what he was doing, but it was impossible. His hand slowed and he enjoyed the feel of Dean's body under his hand, with only a thin piece of cotton between their skin. He washed everywhere he could reach above water, then worked his way down and around, skirting around the areas he was most interested in.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean breathed into the silence. "You've gotta be thorough."

There was no way Castiel could mistake the invitation in his tone. He sat back on his heels and stared at Dean's shoulders which glistened with water and soap bubbles. "Dean, I-"

Dean turned his head until he could look at Castiel over his shoulder. His green eyes were dark with lust and Castiel felt pinned by his gaze. "I've seen the way you look at me, Cas. If you want to touch, you have my permission."

"But.. but…" Castiel stammered to a halt, then frowned.

Dean let out a sigh and sat up straight in the tub. He held out a hand for the washcloth. "I'll take care of the rest, Cas."

Castiel plopped the soapy cloth in Dean's outstretched hand and shot to his feet. "I am going to get more water," he said before quickly leaving the cabin. It was unnecessary. He already had water heating on the stove. He hadn't even grabbed a bucket before leaving the cabin. He just needed to escape the invitation in Dean's eyes.

He stopped just outside and took in deep gulps of air. He tilted his head back and let the sun shine down on his closed eyes. He should be trying to forget what Dean's skin looked like. Where each freckle lay across his shoulders. How it pebbled under his touch.

Instead, he cursed himself for not accepting what was offered. Maybe his lust for men was a sin as he had been told at a young age. But Dean appeared to want him back….

He spun on his heel and went back inside. Dean had managed to get his hair wet and was scrubbing his fingers through it. "Dean, I-"

"Hey, Cas. Can you help me rinse off? I'm ready to get out." He spoke as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't tilted Castiel's world on it's axis.

And Castiel responded to that nonchalance by slipping back under the mask he had worn since the first and last time his father had belted him for kissing the stable boy. "Of course, Dean." Woodenly, he went to the stove and tested the water. It was too hot, so he added it to the bucket of cold water near his feet and carried it over to the tub. "Close your eyes."

Dean did as he was told. As Castiel began pouring the water over him, he tilted his head back so that some of it ran down over his face. When the bucket was half empty, Castiel set it down and wordlessly helped Dean to stand. Then he lifted the bucket again and poured what was left over his body.

He was painfully hard in his trousers, but he said nothing, and Dean either didn't notice or pretended not to.

He grabbed a large cloth and handed it to Dean before helping him step out of the tub. Dean made a cursory effort at drying himself, but he began to sway on his feet before he could finish. Castiel caught him by the elbow, exerting just enough pressure to keep him upright. Dean smiled at him, but he looked very tired and he was pale from the effort he had already expended. "I don't think I'm quite up for getting all dudded up for the ball."

Castiel's eyes narrowed as he tried to process Dean's words. He knew he was probably going to regret asking, but he opened his mouth anyway. "What ball?"

Dean laughed and shook his head. "Figure of speech, Cas." He hobbled toward the bed and fell down onto it, rolling until he was face down on the mattress.

Still bare as the day he was born.

"I can feel you staring again." The words were muffled by bedding, but the laughter was clear in Dean's voice.

Castiel cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from Dean's bare buttocks. He grabbed a blanket and threw it over the other man, sighing in relief when all that skin was covered.

"Thanks, Cas."

"You're welcome, Dean."

His words were met with a soft snore. Castiel sighed, and turned away from the bed to clean up the mess made by Dean's bath.

He was outside after emptying the tub and was just about to go gather some eggs for the breakfast he'd promised Dean when he looked up and saw the approaching riders. Castiel didn't swear very often, but when he realized it was Edgar and his subordinates, he couldn't keep the words from slipping out. "Son of a bitch."

Edgar pulled up in his usual place in the open space in front of the cabin. He looked down at Castiel with the same blank expression he viewed the whole world with. "Mr. James. I assume you know why I am here."

Something twisted inside of him and he glared up at the other man. He was tired of Edgar and his men bullying him, once a week for more than a year. "I do not know, Sheriff," he snapped.

Edgar's lips twitched into something resembling a smile. They both knew exactly what the visit was for. "Has your answer changed, Mr. James?"

"No," Castiel growled. "And I would appreciate if you would get the hell off my land." When the men made no move to leave, he stepped forward, threat made plain in every movement. "It _is_ still my land."

Edgar stared down at him, and Castiel met his gaze with a determined glare of his own. Finally the other man spoke. "You are running out of time, Mr. James." And then he was turning his horse and leading his men away.

After a few minutes the sound of a gun being uncocked brought Castiel's attention around. Dean, wrapped from the waist down in a blanket, stepped through the door with his rifle braced on his hip. He leaned against the door frame and grinned. "Damn, Cas. It takes a pair of stones to stand up to three armed men without a weapon in your hand." He shook the rifle slightly to bring Castiel's attention to it. "Good thing I'm around now, huh?"

Castiel had no idea why Dean was talking about rocks, but his main concern was Dean's welfare. "I thought you were asleep. What are you doing out of bed?"

"Covering your ass just in case those yahoos decided to start something." Dean leaned down to set the rifle inside the door, then straightened to smile at Castiel. The lines around his eyes were deeper than before, and the skin around his lips white under his beard.

"You look like you're about to fall over," Castiel chided. He quickly moved to Dean's uninjured side, and ducked under his arm to lead him back to the bed. Against him, Dean's body was trembling with fatigue.

"Maybe," Dean said through gritted teeth as his shoulder was jostled. "But it was stupid to face them like that."

"They come every Monday," Castiel said as he helped Dean back onto the bed. "This visit was not a surprise. I merely forgot because I have been kept busier than usual." He eyed Dean meaningfully.

Ignoring the dig, Dean glared at him in reproach. "And you don't face them armed? Are you crazy?" He flopped back on the bed, hissing at the pain in his shoulder, then pinned Castiel with his angry green eyes again. "What if they decide they don't like your answer anymore and just decide to off you?"

Castiel tugged at the blanket wrapped around Dean's waist until he could cover him properly. He kept his eyes carefully averted from anything that might be revealed. "Being armed would hardly prevent them from killing me if they wanted to, Dean. It would be three against one."

"Not bad odds if you're fast enough," Dean argued. His eyes had slipped shut, and he looked like he was about to fall back asleep.

"Few men are fast enough," Castiel pointed out. "And violence is rarely the answer."

Dean's laugh was bitter. "Violence is almost always the answer." He went quiet, and Castiel thought he might have finally dozed off again. Just as he turned to leave the cabin to fetch some eggs, Dean spoke again. "Next time, don't face them alone, Cas. Two against three is much better odds."

It was a fact that Castiel could not argue with, so he didn't bother to try. "Rest, Dean. You'll be no good to anyone if you don't allow yourself to recover."

"Yes, mother."

A smile ticked up the corner of Castiel's mouth at the petulant tone.

The next few days were an exercise in patience for Castiel. Dean was still weak from the fever, but he was insistent on getting out of bed. He couldn't do much more than dress himself, something which relieved Castiel immensely, but he tried to help with anything he could. His efforts resulted in more wasted time than not, but if Castiel insisted he rest, Dean would become irritable and take it out on the nearest target.

Which at the moment, was only Castiel.

But Dean was improving, and as a doctor, Castiel knew that the fresh air and exercise were good for him. He only worried about Dean reopening his wound. When Dean wanted to help take care of the horses and the other small livestock, Castiel put his foot down.

He did, however allow Dean to accompany him while he did the heavier chores. If nothing else, he enjoyed the company when Dean wasn't actively trying to annoy him to alleviate his boredom. After a few days he allowed Dean to at least assist him with grooming the horses, starting first with his own black mare Baby.

The time was reminiscent of Castiel's days with Sam. He and Dean spoke, sharing stories about their childhoods - Dean thought it was hilarious how much Castiel's older brother Gabriel hazed him - and their families. Sam had spoken a lot about their Uncle Bobby and his wife Ellen, and their daughter Jo, but while Dean did speak about them as well, he also added barely remembered stories of his mother. It was while Dean was running a brush over Baby's flank that he told Castiel in low tones about the fire that took his mother's life, and how he had taken care of his little brother when his father had been too devastated by grief to do so.

Castiel spoke of his fiancé Anna, whom he had left behind when he left Philadelphia. He left out that it was at the beginning of the hostilities between North and South. He wasn't quite ready to reveal his involvement in the war, so he let Dean assume that he left Anna to move West. Which was partially true. She had promised to wait for him, and he had written her a letter releasing her from their engagement before setting out West.

Dean told him about a young woman named Lisa and her son Ben and how he'd been so taken with her that he'd been thinking of proposing to her. He'd looked wistful when he'd spoken of Ben and how he had hoped the boy was his, but the timing wasn't quite right. Castiel thought it was admirable that Dean wanted to raise the boy anyway, and shared his disappointment when Dean told about learning that Lisa had married while he was away.

Castiel also learned that Dean knew a lot about horses. He was at his most talkative when they were in the barn. Dean wanted to someday find a stud and a few more mares as sleek and powerful as Baby and breed his own fleet-footed herd. It was obvious that he was proud of Baby, and loved her. And she followed him around like a puppy, her ears perked in his direction and nickering softly when he spoke to her.

Deep down, Castiel felt the same way as Baby. He enjoyed Dean's company as much as he enjoyed Sam's. The only thing that marred his appreciation, besides Dean's obnoxious teasing, was his attraction to the man. Every time Dean smiled or laughed, something low in his belly would flip. And when they were outside and the sunlight caught in Dean's eyes at just the right angle, shifting them from green to gold, Castiel's breath would catch. Even just watching him sleep when exhaustion finally dragged him back in the cabin made Castiel's days seem brighter.

He'd never felt anything even remotely like this for another person and that scared Castiel. But that didn't stop him from soaking up every moment of it while he could.

It also didn't help that he suspected Dean was flirting with him sometimes even though it was never again as overt as the invitation to touch had been during his bath. Castiel had never perfected the art of courtship himself, so he was never quite sure if Dean was simply teasing him, or if he seriously meant some of the things he said. Either way, Castiel was not going to ask him. He preferred to keep the illusion for the moment.

Thursday morning dawned bright and clear with a chill to the air. It wasn't cool enough for frost yet, but Castiel could taste it in the air. More gold and red was showing up in the nearby trees, and when he checked the garden, he knew it was time to harvest what was left. He smiled at the thought of Dean helping him with the domestic task.

He had a basket full of eggs when he entered the cabin, where he found Dean sitting up and dressed. He'd managed to pull his shirt on without Castiel's help, although he looked pale as if the effort had cost him. "Good morning, Dean," Castiel said as he set the basket of eggs on the table. "Hungry?"

"Hey, Cas. Do you have a mirror? I could really use a shave."

"Of course," Castiel said as he squatted down in front of the stove to feed it another log so he could heat up some water. "There's one in the chest at the foot of the bed." Once he was satisfied that the log had caught, he closed the grate on the stove and stood to start pulling ingredients for breakfast from the shelves near the stove.

He could hear the squeak of the chest hinges as Dean opened it behind him. "Thanks, Cas. The one I had got left behind when-"

Castiel looked around to find out why Dean had cut off what he was saying. What he saw made his heart stutter with anxiety.

Dean stood over the chest, a familiar blue coat with copper buttons down the front, and yellow bars of rank stitched neatly on the shoulder gripped tightly in his fist. The angry hostility Castiel had not seen on his face for a long time was back, marring his handsome features. Dean looked up at him through his lashes, and Castiel almost flinched at the rage there. "You're a Yankee officer?" he growled, hatred clear in his tone.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel put back the jar of spices he'd pulled from the shelf. Turning, he faced Dean head on. He lifted his chin, a refusal to back down in the face of Dean's anger. "I was," he replied simply.

"You don't think you could'a mentioned that?" Dean drawled. The twang of his Southern heritage was exaggerated in a deliberate reminder of who Castiel was addressing.

Castiel shifted, gripping his hands together behind his back. Putting every ounce of the officer he had been into the expression, he arched an eyebrow at the other man. "I do not see how that would have been relevant, Dean."

Dean's hands tightened in the blue fabric and his whole body tensed, but his voice was deceptively smooth. "Oh, I dunno, Cas. It could be because you're the goddamn _enemy_."

The last word was spit out with enough venom that Castiel could almost feel it's burn like a physical thing. Disappointed, he looked away from the other man. "The war has been over for years. We are not enemies any longer." He risked a glance back, anger at the unfairness of Dean's stance making him bold. "And even if we were, I would have still saved your life. Before I was a soldier, I was a _doctor._" He unclenched his hands, dropping them at his sides, and took a step forward. "I joined the military to save lives, not to destroy them."

Dean snorted in derision and threw the uniform roughly back into the chest. "Yeah, whatever, Sawbones. I've seen how you _'doctors'_," the word was a sneer, "treated the Confederate soldiers under your care."

Castiel frowned at the insinuation. He stalked forward. Dean held his ground, but Castiel stepped right up to him, stopping with only inches between their toes. This close, the small difference in their height was made obvious, but Castiel was more focused on anger that had plagued him throughout the war. He leaned in close. "I worked in a field hospital for most of the war, Dean. It was Hell, and it was my job to pull as many people out of it as I could. If the occasional Rebel ended up on my table, I did my damndest to save him as well. I would have saved you if you'd ended up in front of me then, just like I did when Sam brought you here."

Dean flinched at those words, but Castiel didn't relent. "That's right, Dean. I recognized your uniform. But I didn't turn you away. I saved your life. And I hid you when Roman's men came looking for you, when it would have been easier to hand you over. And I could still do it if I wanted to get in Roman's good graces." He leaned a little closer and held Dean's gaze. "So you should show me some respect."

The hostility had fled from Dean's expression, and he looked a little shell shocked in the face of Castiel's anger. Anger which was not eased in the slightest by venting it at Dean.

Castiel took a step back, then another, his fists clenched at his sides. Then he spun on a heel and walked out of the cabin, letting the door slam shut behind him. His footsteps took him to the barn, where he saddled Seraphim. Honey Bee and Dean's horse, Baby, watched curiously from their paddocks.

He had just enough presence of mind to stop and let them out into the fenced field to graze before he leapt into Seraphim's saddle and rode away from the cabin. He may be angry at Dean, but that was no reason to let the horses starve.

He let Seraphim have her head, and she stretched out in a gleeful run, and he let himself sink into the sensation of flying as the wind tugged at his clothes and hair and stung his skin. She kept to the road, which allowed him time to let his mind wander. The fight with Dean had brought back painful memories. Horrible injuries spurting blood under his hands, switching from patient to patient without cleaning up first, being unable to tell the color of a man's uniform simply because it was stained with too much dirt, blood, and gunpowder to be recognizable anymore.

And in between battles, when things were calmer, men still wailed under his knives and saws. Men died crying for their mothers or their sweethearts in the dark of night. Men slipped away under the burning heat of fevers. The blue and grey uniforms disappeared under a sea of red, and all he could see were corpses, even if they were still breathing.

He remembered saving Rebel soldiers that were hardly more than boys, just so that they could be taken to the prison hospitals. He'd served for a short time in a prison hospital, and he knew that some of the doctors did not care for their patients as he did. It pained him to see the shortage of empathy in his fellow healers, and he had worked harder to make up for their lack of care. At least until he was reassigned back to the battlefields where his skills as a surgeon were more needed.

Not that he felt much like a surgeon during those hellish years. There were days when he really was just the Sawbones doctor that Dean had named him.

Seraphim eventually tired, and Castiel turned her in the direction of home. The walk back was not long because they hadn't gone very far, but by the time the cabin came back into view Castiel's anger was gone. He knew Dean had simply been surprised at the revelation that Castiel had been a Union soldier. Since he had awakened from his fever, he and Dean had been becoming friends as he had with Sam. Dean didn't really hate him for the omission.

At least, Castiel hoped he didn't.

When Castiel dismounted Seraphim in front of the barn, he led her inside and began to groom her. Half-way through, he heard footsteps behind him. Dean didn't speak, and neither did Castiel. He wasn't sure what to say, really.

Dean was the first to break the silence. "I spent time in one of those prison hospitals, you know."

Castiel kept silent. The revelation was not a surprise. He'd surmised as much from Dean's earlier words about the soldier's treatment. Dean's bitterness about the subject indicated he had at least witnessed it at some point, if not having been subjected to it himself. He continued to run the brush over Seraphim's coat, and waited for Dean to continue.

"I was quite the prize." Dean huffed a bitter laugh. "They'd been trying to catch me for months, but I kept sneaking in and finding their secrets."

"You were a spy?" Now that was a surprise, and Castiel paused to look over his shoulder.

Dean was leaned back against the barn door's frame, hands shoved in his pockets, head tilted back against the wood. His eyes were closed, and his brow was furrowed as if he were trying to remember something. Or to forget a memory that wouldn't give him peace. "Yeah, I was a spy. Pretty good at it, too. I got cocky, and I got injured," he ran a hand over his stomach where Castiel knew there was a long white scar. "And I got caught. They stuck me in the hospital."

He reached up and rubbed a hand over his face, digging his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. Every line of Dean's body radiated the fact that he didn't want to talk about this subject. Castiel remained silent, hoping he would continue, but afraid to ask questions and have Dean clam up.

"There was a man there. A _doctor_," another harsh and bitter laugh. "He sewed me up just so he could cut me open again."

Castiel frowned, and stared at Dean's chest, his mind supplying images of the scars under the cloth of his shirt. "Is that where those scars came from?"

"Most of them yeah. Plus there's a lot of things you can do with needles that don't leave scars. Places on the body you wouldn't think to look for damage. You know, in case the prisoner you're torturing is going to be traded back to their own military for concessions," Dean interrupted. A muscle in his jaw clenched. "And eventually, after Alistair broke me and made me spill my secrets, he taught me the trade."

Alistair. It was the name Dean kept saying when he was sick. Castiel hadn't thought anything of it at the time, because it wasn't an unusual name, but now it held a certain familiarity that made his stomach sink with sick anticipation.

Unaware of Castiel's reaction, Dean continued. "He made me torture Confederate soldiers." His voice hitched. "I sometimes wonder how the war would have been different if I hadn't pulled some of those secrets free."

Castiel finally set the grooming brush down and slowly approached the other man. He stopped when he was close enough to reach out and touch, but he resisted the urge. "Dean," he said quietly. "You can't blame yourself for the war. The South may have surrendered, but the North didn't really win. There was too much pain and death on both sides for that."

Dean snorted. "Have you been anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon line lately, Cas?" He didn't wait for an answer. The question had been rhetorical. "But those men that I tortured… I ruined their lives. If they were allowed to live. Going home… facing your family after you have given up your honor-"

"If you hadn't done it, someone else would have." And now Castiel did reach out. He put his hand on Dean's upper arm, near the injury he had worked so hard to heal. "Dean, everyone does something they regret during a war."

Dean dropped the hand that had been covering his face, and cracked his eyes open to look down at Castiel, his expression unreadable. "Did you?"

"I didn't have Alistair arrested for malpractice before I left Alexander Hospital for the front lines." He stopped and waited for his words to sink in.

It didn' take long. Dean reacted in stages. His entire body tensed, the muscle under Castiel's hand flexing. He lifted his head and stared down at Castiel, his eyes burning with rage and hurt. Then he stood straight, pushing away from the barn door, and moving until Castiel's hand fell away from him. He didn't say anything more, although the look of betrayal in his eyes spoke volumes.

He backed up several more steps before spinning and stalking back to the cabin. Castiel watched him go and tried to breathe through the pain in his chest. He wondered if Dean had been in the hospital at the same time he had. It was just a small facility, and he believed he wouldn't have missed Dean if he'd been there. But Castiel had worked only with the Union soldiers at the time. Dr. Alistair Roux and one other had been assigned to the Rebel prisoners.

Castiel had suspected him of mistreating patients, but when he had brought it up to one of his peers, he had received orders taking him to the front lines almost immediately afterwards. It wouldn't surprise him, looking back on it now, to find out that he had received those orders to keep his nose out of Alistair's work.

Sighing, Castiel went back and picked up the brush to continue grooming Seraphim. "Well, that could have gone worse."

Seraphim turned to look at him, her big dark eye wide as if she understood. Castiel ran the brush over her flank in a long stroke. "Maybe I should not have told him I was stationed at the hospital."

She snorted, stamped a hoof, and turned away. He felt like it was an appropriate response.

Castiel found excuses to stay busy outside for as long as he could. He mucked out the stable, fed the chickens, and even brushed down Honey Bee and Baby, when she let him close enough to catch her. She sighed in content and leaned into the brush, and Castiel found himself wishing he could get the same reaction from Dean when he touched him.

If he was ever allowed to again.

After gathering some more vegetables from the garden, Castiel finally knew he could no longer avoid the other man. He paused just outside the door, which sat propped open by one of the two chairs Castiel owned. Something smelled sweet, and he followed his nose through the portal.

Dean was asleep, fully clothed and sprawled as if he'd just let himself collapse there. Castiel suspected he had after he looked around the cabin. It hadn't been very messy, but he was familiar enough with his surroundings to recognize that it had been straightened up, and a glance at the floor told him it might even have been swept. The pallet Castiel had been sleeping in was rolled up neatly against the wall, leaving more open space to move around.

On the table, a cloth lay over something. Castiel sat the basket of vegetables down near his feet and walked over to lift the edge of the cloth. Underneath he found a pie. It was small, and the crust was a little too dark around the edges. But he recognized the sweet scent as it grew stronger now that it was no longer covered.

"You been working so long, I thought you might be hungry."

Castiel twisted just enough to look at Dean.

In addition to cleaning the cabin, Dean had cleaned himself up as well. Without his beard he looked younger, and it no longer pulled attention away from the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. He pushed himself up in a sitting position and ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it spiked up in several directions. He wouldn't quite meet Castiel's eyes, but he didn't look angry anymore.

"I didn't know you could cook." Castiel dropped the cloth back over the pie and moved to the shelves to take down two plates and a knife to slice the pastry. "Or that I had the ingredients available to make a pie."

"My aunt Ellen taught me," Dean answered quietly. "Said it was my mama's recipe, and she wanted to make sure it got passed along to her boys." He paused as if he expected Castiel to ask him more, but continued when Castiel began to dish up a slice of pie for both of them. "Pies aren't that complicated. And you have rhubarb out there in your garden, so I just snagged some of it."

Castiel smiled. Dean spoke as if he expected to be reprimanded for invading the garden without permission. "It's good to have someone help me eat what I've grown. I went a little overboard with that garden, and now that Roman has passed around the message that I'm no longer welcome in Purgatory I find it difficult to sell the excess in town."

Dean accepted the tin plate and the spoon Castiel handed him. This time he met Castiel's gaze. "Roman is a bastard."

"You will not get an argument from me over that."

Castiel sat down at the table, while Dean stayed perched on the edge of the bed. They ate in silence after that.

The pie was good. Parts of the crust were a little too well done, but the filling was the perfect balance of sweet and tart, and still a little bit warm.

"Cas, can I ask you something?" Dean didn't look up when he spoke, and his voice was carefully neutral. He pushed crumbs around on his empty plate and waited, shoulders tense.

"Of course, Dean."

"If you had known what Alistair was doing, would you have tried to stop it?"

"Yes."

The tension drained out of Dean's shoulders and he finally looked up. Neither one of them spoke for a moment, but the apology from both sides hung in the air between them.

Castiel stood and took Dean's empty plate. He set the dishes down on the table, intending to take them outside in a few minutes to wash. When he turned, he nearly jumped. Dean stood directly in front of him, almost too close. He looked down at Castiel as if he were trying to see into his soul.

"Dean?"

Dean didn't answer with words. He held Castiel's gaze, slowly dipping his head as if he were waiting for him to jump away.

Castiel's breath hitched as Dean inched closer. When their lips touched, his eyes slid shut and a small sound escaped him. Dean's mouth moved against his, and although Castiel had very little practical knowledge of kissing, he leaned into it, instinctively following the other man's movements. When Dean's tongue slid across the seam of his lips, Castiel opened for him. Dean tasted like pie.

Another sound slipped from him, a short whine. And then Dean was pulling away.

Castiel opened his eyes. Dean was staring at him as if he didn't quite understand what he was seeing. "Dean?" he asked again. His voice was low and rough, and he didn't recognize it as his own.

"Was that your first kiss, Cas?" Dean's voice also sounded rough.

There had been the stable boy when he was a teen, but that had been just a brush of lips. They'd been caught almost immediately, and that had ended poorly. He'd never pursued anything physical with Anna when they had been engaged, other than a kiss on the hand or cheek. Dean's kiss was, for all intents and purposes, his first real experience.

"Yes, it was," Castiel answered. He wanted to lean forward and capture Dean's lips again. To see if he still tasted like pie, or if that had just been his imagination. It wouldn't take much to close the space between then again. Dean was still close enough that his breath warmed Castiel's skin.

"Awesome."

That was an accurate description. "Can we... do it again?"

Dean's eyes lit up with humor. "Yeah, Cas. Let's do it again."

And then they were kissing. Castiel's arms came up to circle Dean's waist. Dean's strong hands gripped his arms just above the elbows and pulled him closer, until their bodies were pressed flush against each other.

He still tasted like pie, and something else, something that Castiel couldn't define but he suspected it was purely _Dean_. This time he thrust his tongue into Dean's mouth, the movement met with a small, pleased moan. Dean's hands slid up over his shoulders and wrapped around the back of his neck. One of his thumbs pressed up under Castiel's jaw forcing him to tilt his head back and break the kiss.

Castiel gasped when Dean's mouth moved to his jaw and left a hot trail down his neck before coming back up and latching onto him in another breath stealing kiss.

"Jesus, Cas, your mouth," Dean said against his lips.

"Dean," Castiel managed to slip out before his mouth was too occupied to form words again.

He felt like he was burning. The heat started at his lips, and spread through him, invading every corner of his body. It pooled low in his belly, and his trousers became uncomfortably tight. His body surged forward, and the friction of sliding his hips against Dean only fanned the flames higher.

A voice in a deep, dark corner of his mind whispered that what he was doing was wrong. That it was a sin. That he would go to Hell. It sounded a lot like Zachariah, the preacher of the church his family had attended during his childhood. But when Dean's hand slid into his hair and tugged, Castiel's brain caught fire, and the voice was burned away.

He'd never liked Zachariah anyway.

Dean suddenly swayed against him, and their lips broke apart. Gasping for breath, Dean leaned his forehead down on Castiel's shoulder. "Dammit," he huffed.

He was trembling. Castiel could feel it because their bodies were pressed chest to chest, and thigh to thigh. It took a few seconds for his mental functions to start back up, but when they did, he shifted until he could help Dean back to the bed.

Dean collapsed on the thin mattress and threw his good arm over his eyes. "Dammit," he hissed again.

Castiel smiled at the frustration in his voice. "You over-taxed yourself," he said as he nudged Dean closer to the center of the bed. "I do appreciate the effort you expended, but you are still recovering from a serious illness and you need rest." The words came out calm and logical despite the fact that his body was screaming for him to press against Dean again and continue where they left off.

A tired laugh shook Dean's body and he lifted his arm to grin up at Castiel. "That's a lousy way to thank me for your first kiss," he teased.

"I was referring to the pie," Castiel said sternly. But then his smile came back. "But thank you for that as well. It was…"

"Awesome?" Dean supplied helpfully.

A slow smile spread across Castiel's lips. "I suppose that is an adequate way to describe it."

Dean's eyes widened, and then he tilted his head back on the mattress and he let out a full belly laugh. It took him a moment to calm down, and he was wiping his eyes when he finally looked at Castiel again. "You're alright, Cas. For a Yankee." He reached out and caught Castiel around the neck, pulling him down into another kiss.

Groaning, Castiel leaned into it. He allowed Dean to guide him until he was straddled over the other man. Feeling Dean's body under his own sent heat running through him again, and he was barely aware of the fact that he'd started moving, rocking his hips down in small thrusts. It wasn't until Dean's hands swept down his back and settled on his hips that he realized what he was doing.

He tried to pull away, but Dean made a soft sound of dissent. The hands on his hips tightened and pulled him down as Dean thrust up. Castiel gasped and broke the kiss. He stared down at Dean in shock, but didn't otherwise stop the movement of his body. He couldn't, not with Dean's hands guiding him.

Pressure was building inside him at a rapid pace. He was soon on the cusp, and watching Dean's expressions as he also approached his peak made him nearly desperate. "Dean," he panted. "I… I need…"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean grunted without breaking their rhythm. "What do you need, Angel?"

"Close..." he ground his throbbing length against Deans. "But I can't…" The words had the effect of making Dean release him, and he groaned at the loss. But soon Dean was pulling at his clothing. The realization that he would be able to touch Dean's skin without the thin veneer of medical professionalism had Castiel pawing at Dean's clothing as well.

They only got as far as removing their shirts. Their trousers were only pushed down as far as their thighs. And then Dean's hands were guiding Castiel's hips again, and this time with skin against hot skin, Castiel tipped quickly over the edge. He cried out as he spilled against Dean's stomach.

"Kiss me, Cas," Dean said hoarsely. He was still pushing up against Castiel, the movements jerky and urgent.

Castiel wanted to watch Dean's face as he reached the brink, but the thread of pleading in his voice made him give in to the demand. He ran his tongue over Dean's bottom lip and then slipped inside his mouth, drinking in his moans. The hands on his hips tightened, and after a few moments Dean was groaning into him, body arched, fingers digging almost painfully into Castiel's hips.

When Dean's muscles relaxed, Castiel finally sat up enough to stare down at him. His eyes were closed, and muscles were relaxed with bliss. Castiel ran a thumb over the freshly shaved edge of his jaw, and just watched.

"Staring is creepy," Dean muttered after a moment. His eyes were still closed, but his lips quirked up in a smile.

"You called me 'Angel'," Castiel said, ignoring his words.

Now Dean cracked his eyes open to look at him. His expression took on a slightly uncomfortable cast. "Yeah, so?"

"Why?"

Dean shrugged with one shoulder, and looked away. "I uh… had dreams. About you taking care of me." His eyes flicked up to Castiel's then away again. He lifted one hand and waved it around his own head vaguely. "You had a halo… looked like an angel."

A slow smile spread over Castiel's face, turning into an amused grin. So Dean did remember asking him if he was an angel. He just thought it was a dream.

"What?" Dean grumbled.

Castiel shook his head. He didn't want to make Dean uncomfortable. Instead he turned his attention to Dean's bandaged shoulder. He ran his finger over the edge of it with a light touch. "Are you in pain?"

Dean allowed him to change the subject. He twisted his neck to look down at his shoulder. "It's sore," he admitted gruffly. "But I've had worse."

Now that he knew what Dean had gone through during the war, Castiel believed him. Suddenly feeling shy, he shifted until he was able to push up from the bed, sheepishly pulling his trousers up. "I can make you some willow-bark tea if you'd like."

When he moved to step away from the bed without waiting for an answer, a strong hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist. "Cas, wait."

Castiel stopped, but after a quick glance at the other man, he kept his eyes averted. Dean had made no move to cover his partial nudity or clean the mess from his stomach. Seeing him spread out like that made another wave of heat curl in his belly, although he knew he didn't have it in him to perform again for a little while. "What is it, Dean?"

Dean tugged his wrist. His grip was weak, but Castiel allowed himself to be pulled down to sit on the edge of the bed. Dean remained silent until Castiel turned to look at him. "Look, I'm not good at talking about," he paused, his face scrunching into a mildly disgusted expression, "... feelings and shit. But, I, uh…"

Castiel waited, breath held.

Dean looked away first. "I appreciate that you took me in. I probably wouldn't have done the same because of the… uniform… thing. So the fact that you did… well it means a lot."

A light blush stained Dean's cheeks as he spoke. He still had his fingers wrapped around Castiel's wrist, and his thumb was rubbing small circles against his skin. That tiny gesture caused Castiel's bashfulness over what they had just done melt away. He'd been worried that Dean was just using him to let off steam. But here, Dean was thanking him, and touching him, keeping him close during a vulnerable moment.

And that's exactly what it was. The way he stumbled over his words, and couldn't quite meet Castiel's eyes spoke volumes. Dean wasn't the kind of man who liked being in someone's debt.

Suspicion that maybe Dean had instigated the kiss as a way to pay him back for taking care of him made Castiel's gut twist painfully. It took everything he had to not jerk his hand out of Dean's grasp. Instead, he inclined his head, not looking at Dean. "You're welcome," he said gruffly.

"Cas?" Dean's voice held a worried note.

Castiel cleared his throat and stood up from the bed. "I'll make you some tea, then you should get some rest."

"Cas." This time it was a demand, not a question.

Castiel moved to the stove and put a kettle on to boil. It was already full of water, probably Dean's doing. He resolutely refused to look in Dean's direction.

"Come on, Cas," Dean said from right behind him. "Tell me what's wrong."

Forcing what he hoped at least resembled a smile, Castiel looked over his shoulder. He noticed that Dean had wiped himself clean, and had pulled his trousers back on completely, even going so far as to pull one of his suspender straps back up over his shoulder. He had to look away quickly because the sight of Dean disheveled after sex made him want to reach out and touch again. "Nothing is wrong, Dean," he answered. "I just think you should rest after what we just did.

"I call horseshit," Dean said as he grabbed Castiel's elbow and tugged until they were facing each other. He ducked his head down when Castiel wouldn't meet his gaze, looking up at Castiel from below. "Just a few minutes ago you were smiling at me like I hung the moon." He grinned, a lopsided thing that made Castiel's heart thump madly in his chest. "I kinda liked it."

Castiel finally lifted his head and met Dean's gaze directly. Dean wasn't going to let this go, and he wasn't going to be a coward and try to avoid the subject in the face of Dean's insistence. "What we just did… was that just your way of showing gratitude to me?"

Dean laughed. But when he noticed that Castiel didn't think it was funny he instantly sobered. "What? No!" He stepped closer, and slid the hand of his uninjured side around Castiel's waist and pulled him closer. His head tilted forward until it knocked gently against Castiel's. "That was just because I wanted to. I'm sorry if my timing was shit."

Pulling in a deep breath laced with the scent of shaving cream, sex, and Dean, Castiel relaxed. "I always thought the things I wanted were wrong," he admitted quietly. "I thought maybe I was some sort of abomination for desiring men."

"I'll bet some preacher told you that."

A reluctant smile pulled at Castiel's lips. "Father Zachariah was quite vocal about sins of the flesh."

"Yeah, well he's a dick." Dean grinned and pulled Castiel closer. "I don't really believe in God, but I do believe in doing what feels right." He brushed his lips over Castiel's. "This feels right to me. How 'bout you, Cas?"

In answer, Castiel tilted his head up and captured Dean's mouth in a more substantial kiss. Dean leaned into it, giving as much to it as Castiel did. And when they finally broke apart, they were both smiling. The war was probably still somewhere between them, but at the moment Castiel wouldn't think about it. If Dean wanted to forget their fight, then he would put it aside as well.

"Still planning on making that tea?" Dean rasped. His fingers were tracing patterns up and down Castiel's spine, and he made no move to let him go.

"Will you rest if I do?" Castiel asked against his mouth.

"Yeah, Cas, I'll rest." He nipped at Castiel's bottom lip, then teased, "I need it after you wore me out." He laughed at Castiel's disapproving frown and backed away, hands held up in a defensive gesture. He lay back down on the bed, wriggling until he was comfortable.

With a fond smile, Castiel shook his head and made the tea. Afterwards, Dean fell asleep, clearly exhausted. It frustrated him to be so tired all the time, but Castiel knew he was recovering rather well for how close to death he had been.

It was still light outside despite the shortening autumn days, but Castiel had nothing else to keep him busy outside. So he went to his trunk to pull out his journal. When he lifted the lid and saw the crumpled blue coat, he lifted it out. Running his hand over the wool, he thought of his reasons for joining the army.

He'd believed that the country should stay united. When talk of freeing the slaves had started, he had been fully supportive of the motion. And he'd truly wanted to help people. It made him wonder why Dean had joined the Confederate army. Maybe someday they would talk about it, but Castiel felt it was a conversation that should wait. Their friendship was new, and still fragile. He was very grateful that it hadn't been destroyed by their fight earlier.

His eyes strayed to Dean's sleeping form. Warmth spread through his chest, and a fierce protectiveness that he didn't quite understand the origins of. Of one thing he was certain though; Dean Winchester had quickly wormed his way under Castiel's skin, and he was probably there to stay.

When it finally became dark, and Castiel felt tired enough to sleep he moved to the side of the room where his bedroll was propped against the wall. He reached for it, but Dean's voice stopped him.

"You're not sleeping down there when there's plenty of space up here with me."

Castiel turned and found Dean staring at him through half lidded eyes, one hand held out in invitation. "I…" he trailed off. Had he really been about to protest?

The decision to sleep with Dean was simple. That's where he wanted to be, whether it was on the questionable comfort of the bed, or on the hard wood of the floor. And Dean wanted him there too.

Dean watched him disrobe, a lazy smile gracing his features. And when Castiel approached the bed, he held up the blanket and pulled him close against his side.

Having never slept with another person before, it felt strange at first. But in minutes Castiel was asleep, and in the morning when he woke with Dean draped over his back, it felt completely natural.

The next few days were the brightest and happiest Castiel could remember ever spending. Dean still insisted on doing more and more work, trying to raise his endurance again. Instead of being obnoxious like he had previously, he was openly flirty and often had Castiel in stitches with his bawdy humor.

They were careful to avoid the subject of war, veering away from any topics that might lead to their time spent in the army. By mutual, unspoken agreement they had decided to let that part of each other's past go, at least for now.

Dean also spent time teaching Castiel about his carnal side. At first it was mostly just kissing and groping. The first time Dean gave Castiel a handjob was in the barn shortly after they'd washed up from grooming the horses. Dean had pressed him against the wall of one of the empty stalls, and slid his hand down Castiel's pants. His hand had still been cold from the water he'd used to wash with, and at first Castiel had hissed with discomfort. But soon he'd been rutting into Dean's palm, whimpers and pleading words spilling from his lips. Dean had stared into his eyes and talked him through it, calling him his Angel and telling him to let go, and praising him when he'd finally lost all control and spilled himself into Dean's hand.

That night, Castiel had put his mouth on Dean. It was something he'd wanted to try since he'd first heard men talking about it in the barracks. But unlike those men, he'd wanted to try doing it rather than being on the receiving end. Dean had been surprised, but he'd lain back on the bed and writhed under Castiel's mouth. His hands had dug into Castiel's hair, guiding him. And all the while, Dean had praised him.

"Fuck, Cas your mouth feels so good.

"Can you take me deeper, Angel? Oh god, yes…

"Let me come in your mouth, Cas? Please… I can't… can't hold out..."

Castiel loved Dean's flavor. His skin was musky and salty, and his seed was even more so. He'd wanted to keep going, but Dean had whimpered and pulled him off when it became too much for him to bear. And when he'd caught his breath, he'd flipped Castiel onto his back and returned the favor.

When Dean had awakened Castiel the next morning with whispered pleas, Castiel had been shocked at his request. He hadn't known what Dean was suggesting was even possible. Dean had fetched an oily cream from his saddle bags, and had lain back down, spreading his legs and talking Castiel through opening him up and getting him slick and ready. And when Castiel finally sank into Dean's tight heat for the first time, he'd closed his eyes and prayed for his own soul because he had been sure he was going to die of pleasure.

They buried themselves in each other, forgetting the outside world. Forgetting Roman, forgetting Sam and his mission to bring help. Forgetting everything outside the little valley where Castiel had settled. For the first time in years, the place felt more like a home than an escape from the horrors of his past.

Monday morning dawned cold and overcast. Another autumn storm was brewing high in the mountains, but Castiel and Dean barely noticed from the warm cocoon of their shared bed. Castiel had tried several times to disentangle himself to at least get coffee started, but Dean kept pulling him back, wrapping him in his arms, kissing away his protests.

Dean had a lot more stamina lately, and he was determined to use it. But even when they were not doing anything of a sexual nature, Dean did not want to let Castiel go. He seemed to enjoy just holding him, running his hands over his skin, pressing soft kisses to whatever he could reach. Sometimes they spoke, and sometimes they would just lie together in the silence, enjoying each other's company.

It surprised Castiel how affectionate Dean was, especially after their argument. But he wasn't going to complain. He cherished the closeness. Loneliness had always been a part of him, even when he was surrounded by family or friends. But Dean banished the feeling as easily as the sun banished fog.

It wasn't until Castiel had reminded Dean that the animals were suffering from neglect that Dean finally let him go. The cabin was cold, but Castiel didn't bother to dress as he made his way to the stove and bent down to stoke the fire. Behind him, Dean propped himself up on his uninjured arm and watched him, whistling in appreciation for the sight.

Castiel chuckled, warmth blossoming in his chest despite the chills running over his skin. "I worry that I will never get anything done once you have your strength back completely," he teased after he had the fire going strong, and a full kettle on to boil. He padded back and knelt down on the bed, but refused to allow Dean to pull him under the blankets again. Instead he hauled them back, grinning at Dean's yelp when the cold air touched his bare skin.

"There's not much to do in winter other than keep each other warm." Dean sat up, and wrapped himself around Castiel, sharing what was left of the bed's warmth. "Another month or so and you won't have to worry about it so much."

Hope that Dean would be around that long rose in his chest, but Castiel quickly shoved it down. They had not discussed their relationship at all, and he wasn't even sure how to bring it up. For now he was not going to allow himself to think past Sam coming back with help. He had no idea how long that would be, and he had learned from past discussions that Dean didn't know either. U.S. Marshals spent much of their time traveling, and Sam was going to have to track him down.

For all they knew, Sam and John Winchester could show up the very next day. After Roman was dealt with, Dean no longer had a reason to stay. Castiel refused to allow himself to hope that he would be enough to keep the other man around after his business was concluded in Purgatory. After all, he would have been long gone if he hadn't been shot.

Dean seemed to catch the downward shift in his mood. "What's wrong, Cas?"

"I need to visit town." The lie rolled off his tongue easily. He had no intention of discussing his growing attachment with Dean any time soon. He pulled away from Dean's arms and moved to dress. "But I am worried about my reception."

Behind him, Dean's curses were creative enough to make Castiel arch a brow at him in amusement. "We've got to do something about that Roman asshole."

"I am not exactly sure what you expect to do," Castiel said reasonably. "He has never actually broken the law. At least not that anyone can prove." He'd had this same discussion with Sam before he'd left, but the younger man had just laughed and said it would work out.

Dean bounded up off the bed and began pulling on his own clothes. "That's where you're wrong, Cas. There's a reason the guy tried to have me killed."

Castiel turned to stare at Dean, fingers frozen on his half-buttoned shirt. "What do you mean?"

Dean's grin was cocky. He laid fingers against his chest. "I know a few things he'd rather I not talk about."

"Are you going to tell me what they are?" Castiel realized he was still only half dressed, and continued buttoning his shirt while he waited for Dean to elaborate. His question was met with silence, but Castiel could be patient. He started building the fire up in the stove while he waited, and had a pot of water filled to heat up for coffee before Dean answered.

"Sam and I were not planning on actually working for Roman," Dean said softly. There was a rustle as he got up and started to dress. "We're here because there's a bounty on his head that we intended to collect."

Castiel turned to watch Dean finish dressing. Sam had told him about their profession, but this was the first time Dean had brought it up. "Sam told me that you are bounty hunters."

Dean grimaced slightly and nodded. He'd dressed in trousers and a shirt that belonged to Castiel, suspenders hanging off his shoulders, and he was sitting on the bed pulling on his boots. He avoided Castiel's eyes as he spoke. "I'm surprised you didn't kick us off your land when you found out. We don't get a lot of folks welcoming us into their homes when they find out what we do."

This time the silence was Castiel's. He understood why they would be cautious. Most bounty hunters tended to be rough men, and dangerous. And if Roman's men had come after Dean and Sam that night, they would have brought even more trouble to Castiel's doorstep.

Dean stared up at Castiel, his green eyes wide and shoulders slightly hunched. He looked like he was waiting for an angry explosion. "Dean," Castiel sighed. "I do not care that you are a bounty hunter. Although I do appreciate that you told me." He turned back to the stove to check if the water was starting to warm yet. He didn't want Dean to see his face. "So when you've captured Roman, I suppose you'll have to take him back to where he's wanted?"

Strong arms came around his waist, and Dean rested his chin on Castiel's shoulder. His voice was soft when he spoke. "I only have to get him to the closest US Marshall." His lips were warm when they pressed against Castiel's neck. "And hopefully my dad will be here soon."

Castiel had to lock his knees to keep from sinking against Dean. He still didn't know exactly what he had with Dean, but his words indicated that it would last at least until Marshall Winchester showed up.

By mutual agreement, they dropped the subject. He and Dean shared a breakfast of biscuits and coffee before going out into the cold morning to work on chores. They didn't have as much to do as usual since the last few days had been spent bringing in everything ripe from the garden and taking it down to the root cellar Castiel had dug out himself the first year he'd lived on the farm.

By noon, it had warmed enough that Castiel was drenched in sweat from working. Dean had taken care of the animals, then helped Castiel till up the remains of the garden. They had stopped to take a break and were walking toward the cabin to find something to eat when Castiel caught the sight of riders coming around the bed. He planted a hand between Dean's shoulders and shoved him at the door.

"Hide," he hissed.

Dean shot a glare over his shoulder, but didn't otherwise argue. He quickly disappeared into the cabin, and Castiel turned to wait for the riders to approach.

Of course it was Edgar. Although this time he had a larger group of men with him. Instead of his customary honor guard of two, he had a group of four. This was not a development Castiel was comfortable with, but he stood his ground and greeted them with a polite nod when they came to a stop in front of him. It was easy to display nonchalance because he knew Dean would have guns trained on Edgar and his men.

"Good day, gentleman," he paused and eyed the extra men before turning what he hoped was an unimpressed look on Edgar. "I see you have expanded your entourage, Sheriff. You must be moving up in Mr. Roman's esteem."

Edgar touched the edge of his broad brimmed hat in response to the greeting. "Hello, Mr. James. I trust you are doing well." Not waiting for a response to his pleasantries he gestured at the men to his side. "Mr. Roman has grown impatient and feels that extra incentive is required to persuade you to sell." One of the men at his side snickered at the words.

Castiel grunted. "Paying me what the land is worth would be a better start."

"Mr. Roman has been more than reasonable-"

"Horse shit," Castiel cut him off. The curse rolled off his tongue easily and distantly he was amused that Dean was starting to rub off on him. He shifted his weight into a more aggressive stance. "Mr. Roman barely offered compensation at all. And even if he did offer me at least what I paid for this land, I am not willing to sell."

"I am sorry to hear that," Edgar sounded sincere, but the coldness of his expression belied the words. "I urge you to reconsider, before something… unfortunate causes you to change your mind."

For a moment, panic threatened to seize Castiel. If Roman sent his men in force, Castiel would stand no chance against them. Briefly he considered giving in. He looked away from Edgar and his men, and took in his surroundings. The cabin and the barn and corral had been built by him with assistance from friends in Purgatory. Friends that were gone now because of Roman's heavy handedness. The garden, barren now, but during the summer full of a myriad of vegetables and even a few fruits, he had created by himself. The mountains rose around his tiny valley, closing in on it with aspen trees and conifers, making it look like Mother Nature had built a grand cathedral out of nothing.

A sense of home unlike any he had ever felt before settled in him. And quickly behind it came a burning anger. He had been bullied by his eldest brother, and then had gone through Hell in the war because men in power thought they needed more power. And now, Roman was trying to force him out of the home he had come to love because of a conveniently located spring and a tiny stretch of land that could be used for pasturing his cattle in the summer when they were brought up from the hotter southern climates.

Castiel would have none of it. He let his gaze settle back on Edgar, and his voice was hard when he spoke. "My answer has not changed, Edgar. Please pass my regrets to Mr. Roman."

In a show of defiance, Castiel did not bother with a polite goodbye. As if they meant nothing to him, he turned on a heel and walked toward the cabin. There was no sign of Dean, but Castiel suspected he had a gun trained on the mounted men, which was why he was able to show enough bravado to turn his back on them.

Because he no longer faced them, he missed the brief hint of heat in Edgar's eyes. All Castiel knew was that as he was reaching the cabin door, Edgar spoke.

"I don't believe our business is quite finished, Mr. James."

The unmistakable sound of several pistols cocking behind him halted Castiel in his tracks. Slowly, he turned and found four guns pointed at him. Edgar himself still sat with his hands casually crossed over the pommel of his saddle, but Castiel knew it would only take a simple gesture for his men to begin pulling triggers. Outwardly he remained calm, despite the adrenaline beginning to course through his veins. He raised a questioning brow. "Has Mr. Roman resorted to murder to get what he wants, Sheriff?"

Edgar smiled. It was the most genuine emotion Castiel had ever seen from the man. "It's only murder if someone finds your body, Mr. James."

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but he heard the cabin door open behind him. He turned to see Dean saunter out, smiling, yet there was something dangerous in his eyes as he looked up at Edgar. A gunbelt was slung low around his hips, a shiny pearl-handled colt tucked in the holster, and Castiel knew it was loaded. His body swayed, loose and easy as if he weren't confronting armed men, and when he came to a halt next to Castiel he crossed his arms casually over his chest. Despite the relaxed stance and cheerful smile, he exuded menace, and Castiel felt goosebumps race across his skin as the atmosphere became dangerous.

"Hey there, Sheriff. It's been a while."

Only a brief hint of surprise graced Edgar's features. "Mr. Winchester. You left so quickly we weren't able to properly say goodbye."

"I dunno, man. I think a bullet in the shoulder says 'goodbye' pretty clearly." Dean uncrossed his arms, and braced his hands on his hips. His hand was mere inches from his weapon, but Castiel hoped he wouldn't try anything while Edgar's men had guns already trained on him.

Edgar nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, it's a shame that Jeffrey was such a bad shot."

Castiel stiffened. He'd known that one of Roman's men had shot Dean, but he hadn't asked for details. If the current tense standoff and Edgar's words were any indication, Dean was in danger. Whatever it was that Dean knew about Roman, it was enough that he wanted Dean silenced.

"Yeah," Dean drawled. His voice lowered, an undercurrent of rage touching his words. "A damn shame. I'm sure he's in Hell right now, regretting pulling a gun on me and my brother."

That caught Castiel's attention and he turned to look at Dean. He couldn't read the other man's expression, but it sounded like he truly regretted having to kill someone, even in self defense.

Edgar chuckled. "Well, I'm sure you'll find out when you meet him there. Before we send you off to your judgement, though, how about you have your partner come out of hiding?"

"He ain't here." Dean's voice had hardened even further. "He's been gone for days."

Something dark flashed across Edgar's expression. "And he'd just leave you behind?"

Castiel had gone back to watching Edgar and his men, but from the corner of his eye he saw Dean shift toward him slightly. "He left me in capable hands."

Edgar's dark eyes fell on Castiel again. Knowledge of Castiel's lie the day after the Winchesters had arrived burned in his eyes. "Ah, yes. Good Doctor James. Although I'd assumed you've given up medicine."

"I assist those who need me," Castiel ground out. He left it unsaid that he'd rather nurse snakes back to health than help any of Roman's men. It was only mostly true.

Edgar's smile turned into a smirk briefly before his expression went blank again. He settled his gaze on Dean. "I'm having a hard time believing that your brother would leave you alone. Tell him to come out of hiding." He made a gesture and the guns his men held settled their sights back on Castiel. The "or else" was left unspoken.

It took everything Castiel had not to flinch. The guns had been trained on him before Dean had walked out and taken Edgar's attention, but now he knew that they were ready to pull the triggers. "Dean-"

"Don't worry, Cas," Dean said in a quiet aside. "I got this."

Castiel turned to face him, but all he saw was a blur of motion. The ear splitting retort of gunfire made him flinch and duck away. He hit the ground and rolled, doing a mental inventory of his body when he came to a stop. He felt no pain, but that could be a delayed reaction.

Lifting his head, he looked through the cloud of dust around him and saw that Dean still stood, a single gun in hand with a thin trail of smoke leaking from the barrel. Edgar sat casually on his horse, straight-faced as ever, but each of his men were nursing wounds. One had fallen from his horse, but Castiel could hear him moaning and knew he was still alive.

"You've only got two shots left," Edgar stated calmly, staring Dean down.

"And I'm saving one just for you. At this range I can put a bullet right between your eyes," Dean said almost cheerfully.

The two men stared each other down for what seemed like an eternity before Edgar gave a curt nod. Turning to one of his men who was still mounted, he barked out an order to help the man on the ground mount up. He waited until they were back in their saddles before turning his attention back to Dean, who still had his pistol trained on him, but his words were directed at Castiel. "This isn't over Mr. James. You have made friends with the wrong men."

And then they were leaving. Dean kept his gun trained on their retreating backs until they were out of sight.

Remembering that he was still on the ground, Castiel pushed himself back to his feet, smacking his chest and legs free of dirt. "I cannot believe you did that," he grumbled angrily.

Dean finally lowered his weapon and turned to Castiel with one brow lifted in curiosity. "Did what?"

"Pulled your gun on five armed men, four of whom already had their weapons out." Castiel bit off the words and turned away from Dean. He stalked away, not paying attention to where he was going, just needing to move his feet. "They could have killed you. They could have killed _me_."

Footsteps echoed behind him. "Cas, the fact that they were aiming for you is what let me pull that off. It took them a few seconds to get their guns back on me, and I used that distraction against them."

It made sense that they would react by wanting to shoot the real threat, but any one of them could have kept a level head and shot Castiel instead. The thought made him walk even faster. He wanted to ask Dean what would have happened then, but he just ground his molars together. If he tried to speak to Dean, he was afraid he would start shouting.

"Cas, come on, man." Dean had caught up with him enough to grab him by the shoulder, which he did, pulling him around.

Castiel spun and took a threatening step towards Dean. "You shouldn't have risked it, Dean!"

Dean had stumbled to a halt when Castiel did and he stood now, glaring at him defiantly. "I knew what I was doing."

"Did you?" Castiel barked. He took another step into Dean's space.

"We're both fine," Dean pointed out stubbornly.

"And in a lot more trouble than we were before," Castiel countered. "They're going to come back. With more men. And this time they'll be better prepared."

"And what else could I have done?" Dean demanded, moving forward until their chests nearly touched. It made him seem to tower over Castiel despite only having a few inches of height to his advantage. "Someone was going to get shot today, Cas. And I sure as hell wasn't going to let it be you." He stopped, breathing heavily through his nose as he glared down at Castiel. A muscle jumped in his jaw, showing just how hard Dean was holding on to his own temper.

Staring up into green eyes, Castiel had the chilling thought that he could have lost Dean today. The root of his anger was there, and it was fed by adrenaline. He knew Dean was right, but it still galled him that he had come so close to losing this man.

And it wasn't because he'd nursed him back to life already. It was because he was in love with the idiot.

The fight drained out of him at that thought, replaced with resignation. He had been fighting with himself, trying desperately not to admit even in the privacy of his own mind that he'd developed feelings for Dean. But the danger of the situation made it glaringly apparent that it was too late. He looked away from Dean, unable to meet that green-eyed glare anymore without allowing the words to spill out. It gave him the reprieve he needed to say something else instead. "You are right," he said softly. His shoulders drooped, and he took a half step back. "I am sorry. The stress of the situation made it difficult for me to think as clearly as I should have."

Dean was silent for a moment, but Castiel refused to look at him. Finally Dean reached out and gripped his shoulder. "It's alright, Cas. I get it."

Castiel looked up at that, searching to see what exactly it was Dean understood. But he couldn't tell from his expression.

Dean suddenly grinned. "You're not going to say anything about how fast I am?"

Castiel blinked. He focused inward on the memory of what had happened, and his eyes widened. Dean _was_ fast. He'd disabled _four men_ who already had their weapons out and cocked. Now that he thought about it, he realized that Edgar's men had also discharged their weapons. Panic rose up in him, and he knocked Dean's hand away from his shoulder and started searching him for wounds.

"Whoa, Cas," Dean said with a laugh as Castiel ran his hands over his arms and torso and then down further. "I'm game for a little fooling around, but how about a kiss first?"

When he didn't find any bullet holes, Castiel let out a relieved sigh. He stood up straight and glared at Dean. "You are a very lucky man, Dean Winchester."

Dean's grin softened. He tilted his head at Castiel and there was something tender in his eyes. Something that darkened the green. It twisted his lips into a half-smile that was almost surprised. "Yeah," he said softly. "I am a lucky bastard."

The words were there, crowding behind Castiel's teeth again. Three little words that could change everything between them.

But Dean spoke first, his tone brisk. "But that luck can't last me forever. Edgar is going to go back to Roman and tell him I'm here. And the pressure he was putting on you before is going to be nothing compared to what's going to happen. We're going to have to prepare."

"Prepare for what?" Castiel tilted his head and frowned.

"War," Dean said simply. He jerked his head in a motion that indicated he wanted Castiel to follow him, but didn't wait to see if he did. He just turned and started walking back to the cabin, speaking over his shoulder as his long, swaying strides carried him away. "And we're outnumbered, so if we're gonna survive this until Sammy comes back with help, we're going to need to have a plan."

Realizing that Dean expected him to follow, Castiel quickly moved to do so, half running to catch up with his longer strides. He shook his head slightly. "Dean, there are only two of us. How many men does Roman employ? Twenty? How are we supposed to hold them off?"

It was a valid question. Castiel had seen Roman and his men chase off another family that had several large, strapping sons and a few employees of their own. He simply could not imagine how two men alone, one recovering from an injury, could stand up to Roman.

"Hey," Dean had come to a stop and his thick fingers slid from Castiel's shoulder to the back of his neck and squeezed gently. He ducked down slightly, so their eyes met at the same level. "Do you trust me?"

He did. Despite the fact that in years past they had been enemies. Despite knowing Dean for only a few short weeks. He trusted him absolutely. "Yes, Dean." He more than trusted him. But he couldn't say so. Not under these circumstances.

Dean smiled, a bright and precious thing that sent golden tendrils of warmth to wrap around Castiel's heart. He pulled Castiel forward into a quick hard kiss. "Alright, then we've got some work to do. But first things first. How are you with a gun?"

Castiel shrugged. "I believe I am a fair shot."

He'd had little opportunity to use his skills at shooting during the war, but he could hold his own. As a boy his brother Michael had made him take lessons with different kinds of firearms. He could also wield a sword with deadly precision. What his brother Michael didn't know is that Gabriel had made sure that Castiel was also educated in some of the less honorable forms of fighting. He knew how to use his fists, and could be quite skilled with a knife outside of the surgical procedures he had perfected as an adult.

"Do you have guns?" Dean moved away from Castiel as he spoke, and walked into the open door of the cabin. He bent down over his saddle bags and pulled out another gun belt with two gleaming, pearl-handled six shooters resting in the holsters.

Castiel moved to stand over him, raising an eyebrow when Dean also pulled out the sheathed blade that was as wide as his hand and as long as his forearm. "Of course. I have two handguns and a rifle." He watched in awe as Dean unsheathed the blade and carefully checked the sharpness with the pad of his thumb. "It's not as nice as yours, but it is accurate enough for hunting. I also have a saber."

Dean's eyes were wide with surprise when he looked up at Castiel. "Really? Is it one of them fancy officer blades?"

"Yes." Castiel smiled grimly. "But it is not just ornamental, I assure you."

Dean barked a laugh and stood, guns in hand. "I don't know why I didn't peg you for the type to know how to use a sword." His green eyes sparkled with humor, and he nudged Castiel with an elbow. "Must be the 'gentle healer' impression you put out."

If Castiel had his way, that is the only side of his personality he would ever have to show. He shrugged. "I was also a soldier."

"Yeah." The light in Dean's eyes dimmed slightly. Then he seemed to shake off whatever dark thoughts plagued him, and he tilted his head in the direction of the door. "Come on, Cas. Show me what you've got."

Twenty minutes later they were shooting empty cans from the top of the corral fence after they'd moved the horses inside and out of the way. Dean seemed impressed by his ability to shoot the targets with both a rifle and a revolver, but after a few easy shots, he started doing things to challenge Castiel. He'd change the distance to the targets, or have Castiel shoot at them while walking and then running. The last was the most difficult, but Castiel still managed to hit most of the bullet riddled cans.

At least he thought it was the most difficult until Dean had him stand still and stood behind him, flush against his back. Dean breathed the command into Castiel's ear for him to shoot and then began to spread kisses across the back of his neck. At the same time his hands came around Castiel's waist. Deft fingers plucked at the buttons of his trousers and slipped under the waistband. Castiel's first shot went wide at the feel of callused fingers closing around him, but the dark chuckle that rumbled into him from where Dean pressed against his back gave Castiel the motivation to concentrate. He hit every target despite the way his body trembled under Dean's talented fingers.

"Very good." Dean huffed a dark laugh, his breath hot against Castiel's ear. He gave Castiel's painfully hard length a slow stroke.

Castiel shuddered and let his arms drop, aiming the still loaded gun at the ground a few feet away. "How..." he bit his bottom lip against a moan when the palm of Dean's other hand slid over the head of his erection. Moisture beading at the tip made the caress slick and erotic. "How is this supposed to help? I sincerely doubt I will need to shoot an enemy during a handjob."

"Probably not." Dean sank his teeth into the back of Castiel's neck hard enough to sting, then ran his tongue over the tender flesh. "But that would be pretty damn hot."

"Dean..." The word was half warning, half pleading.

Dean didn't stop what he was doing. In fact, he increased the pace, keeping his grip loose to keep from chafing Castiel's skin. "Think you can hit the target like this, Angel?"

It was hard to concentrate, and Dean had to bite him again to pull his mind back from the pleasure washing through him. He answered, barely able to enunciate the words. "I.. don't.. I can't…" His free hand cupped Dean's through the cloth of his trousers, squeezing in a silent request for more.

"Hm, I think you should at least try," Dean said, low and husky. He answered Castiel's silent plea and tightened his grip.

"Please, Dean," Castiel whispered.

Stubble prickled the back of Castiel's neck when Dean rubbed his face over the skin he'd been kissing. "Take aim, Angel. Pull the trigger when you come."

The gun trembled in his hand for a moment before his grip firmed. He bit his lip at the slide of skin over skin, but kept his eyes open and focused. His breath was coming in short, sawing gasps but he refused to lose this game Dean was playing. When the heat inside him finally crested and spilled over, he squeezed his eyes shut, and pulled the trigger at the same time. The gun's report drowned out his cry.

"Holy Jesus, Cas. You hit it!" Dean's voice sounded as wrecked as Castiel felt.

The gun was plucked out of Castiel's hand and strong hands spun him around and pushed him to his knees. Castiel didn't have to be asked to reach up and pull Dean free of his trousers. His mouth watered in anticipation, and then Dean's flesh was on his tongue. Dean's fingers were in his hair, pulling and pushing and guiding. Dean's voice was in his ears, praising him and cursing him in turn.

It didn't take long for Dean to reach his peak. He pushed deep into Castiel's mouth and held him in place for a few breathless moments, his hot seed spilling on the back of Castiel's tongue.

Castiel managed to swallow without choking although it was a near thing. Dean pulled away just when he started to feel the burn in his lungs begging for air. He couldn't find it in himself to be upset with the rough treatment. It filled him with heat despite the fact that his body was still recovering from a recent orgasm.

He looked up and found Dean staring at him, eyes wide, jaw slack. Dean reached down with a thumb and wiped at the saliva that had dripped down Castiel's chin. There was something fearful in his expression.

"What is it, Dean?" Castiel asked, still breathing hard.

Dean blinked, and shook his head as if to clear it. He smiled, and all of his normal warmth was back in his eyes. "Just... a random thought, that's all." He reached down and helped Castiel to his feet without bothering to straighten his clothes first, and pulled him into a quick hug. With a cough, he let Castiel go and turned away, refastening his trousers. "Well now that I know what you can do with a gun, we can make some plans."

Castiel watched him stride toward the cabin, frowning in consternation at his wide shoulders. Normally he would simply enjoy the way Dean's body swayed with each step, but he was too caught up in his confusion to notice this time. He could swear Dean's cheeks had been flushed bright red before he'd turned away. He wanted to know why Dean had looked at him the way he had, but Dean's denial put him off the question.

A sharp breeze cut through his clothing, dimming the afterglow of his orgasm, and he shivered. The sky darkened as a cloud went over the sun, and he shivered again, although this time it wasn't from the cold. An ominous feeling suddenly pressed down on him.

Another gust of cold air pushed him into motion and he moved quickly to refasten his trousers and follow Dean who was already inside. He locked his fears away in a dark corner of his mind. He had no reason to feel the way he did, and he wouldn't invite bad luck by giving them any credence.

The rest of the evening was spent discussing plans. Dean did inventory of their ammunition supplies, and was impressed by how much Castiel had stored in the cabin. He'd just chuckled when Castiel told him Edgar's weekly visits had made him paranoid and gone on to start instructing Castiel to put boxes of bullets in strategic areas. They kept some near the windows, and even took some out to the barn as well. Dean told him they would have to stay armed at all times now since they had no idea if Edgar would keep to his weekly schedule or not.

That night Dean insisted on making dinner, and they shared cleanup duties. As night slipped over the cabin, they curled up together in Castiel's narrow bed and all discussion of strategy forgotten as they lost themselves in each others arms.

Despite the rigorous activity, Castiel had difficulty falling asleep. He kept thinking of how close Dean had come to death again today. In the back of his mind, he knew that he had probably been the closer of the two of them, but he'd actually seen Dean standing at Death's door already. His arms tightened around Dean at the memory. He knew that Dean would leave someday, but that was a much better prospect than losing him to another bullet.

When he did finally fall asleep it was fitful and disturbed by nightmares. He dreamed of the hospital battlefields. _Soldier after soldier passed in front of him, all of them in agonizing pain. The saw in his hand dripped blood, and he could feel it soaking into his clothing, but he continued to work on each man grappled onto the table in front of him. He didn't hear any of their screams, although he could see their mouths gaping wide and their eyes pleading with him not to take their limbs._

_He worked through them, one after another. Until one caught his attention._

_"Cas... don't..."_

_Castiel stared down into Dean's terrified green eyes. He'd been working for days on all of the injured soldiers without pause, but seeing Dean on his table made him freeze. Dean's arm was black with rot, and if Castiel didn't remove it now he was going to die. Ignoring Dean's pleading he set his saw high against his shoulder, praying silently that Dean would lose consciousness, even though he knew in the distant fashion of dreams that it wouldn't happen._

_Dean screamed. He screamed and screamed and the horrible sound drilled into Castiel, but he kept dragging the saw back and forth through black flesh._

_"Cas! Please stop!_

_Cas! Oh god, don't-_

_Cas!"_

"Cas! Castiel!"

Castiel jolted awake with a harsh gasp. He stared up at Dean who leaned over him, hands on his shoulders. "Dean?"

"Cas, man, get up! The barn is on fire!" And then he was gone, pulling trousers and boots on and rushing out the cabin door.

That's when Castiel realized he could still hear the screaming, but it wasn't human. He was already up and pulling on his own pants when the fog cleared from his mind and he realized it was the horses. He sprinted outside to find the barn nearly engulfed in flames. There was no way he and Dean would be able to put it out.

And he couldn't see the other man anywhere. "Dean?" He called as he ran toward the barn. "Dean!"

Just as he reached the point where he could feel the flames, two horses burst out of the barn door. Castiel nearly collapsed with relief when he saw Dean clinging to the back of one of them. But he stiffened his spine and went running into the barn. Seraphim was still in there, and he could hear her crying out. Heat surrounded him on all sides, and he couldn't breath. But he had to get her out.

The smoke was blinding, but he saw Seraphim rearing up in her paddock. The metal latch burned his hands, but he ignored the pain, pawing the door open. Seraphim nearly knocked him over in her haste to escape, and he was just barely able to grip her mane and let her drag him free of the burning structure.

Outside, Dean jumped in front of the frightened horse causing her to stop running. Castiel's fingers slipped free of her mane and he fell to his knees next to her. He rolled away to avoid her hooves as she dance around fearfully. He ended on his feet, and automatically he turned back to the barn.

"NO! Cas!" Dean grabbed him around the waist, pulling him away from the burning barn. "We got the horses, man!"

Castiel let himself be dragged back. His heart ached to see all the lost gear, but Dean was right. It wasn't worth his life. His horses were alive, and he could bounce back from the loss of a few saddles. They stood close enough to feel the heat of the blaze, watching as the roof collapsed in on itself. Castiel flinched, and Dean wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"It could have been worse." Castiel didn't know why he spoke the platitude. He had no one to comfort but himself.

Dean's arm tightened around him. "We'll make him pay for this."

Revenge wasn't what Castiel wanted. He just wanted peace. He wanted to live without the stench of death and fire burning his sinuses. He wanted to spend his days caring for his land and his horses, and if he was lucky, making love to Dean Winchester on a regular basis. He did not want this stupid feud with Roman over his land.

"Maybe I should just sell and leave," he murmured. He hadn't meant for Dean to hear, but the other man stiffened at his words.

"Cas, you can't just give up. The man is a thief and a murderer. He doesn't deserve anything you could give him."

A thief and a murderer.

His resolve hardened. Dean was right. Giving up was not an option. He turned to Dean, leaned into his chest for just a moment. They had to round the horses back up and repair the corral which was close enough to the barn that parts of the fence were burning as well, and the night was going to be a long one. But he let himself revel in Dean's warmth for just a few seconds. When he pulled away, Dean was looking at him with concern creasing his brow.

"Let's get the horses put up for the night," Cas said softly.

Dean watched him for another long moment before he nodded. He let his hands slide away slowly, and Castiel smiled at the small gesture of comfort.

The sun was up by the time Castiel and Dean were ready to crawl back into bed. They were both damp and cold from a quick wash in the rain barrel, and Dean was the first to climb under the blankets. Despite the events of the night, and their obvious exhaustion, he was grinning.

"C'mon, Cas. Come keep me warm."

Castiel cocked an eyebrow at the other man, trying to keep his lips from twitching up in a smile. Dean, naked and golden under the blanket and extending such an invitation was difficult to resist. But his own hair was still dripping and he wanted to dry off a little more. He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but his words were forgotten when he heard the approach of horses.

A shout from outside had him rushing to the window to peek through the cracked shutters. Dean was quickly out of bed and crowding behind him to get a look. Normally Castiel would have enjoyed all that naked flesh pressed against his back, but the sight of Edgar and a group of Roman's men took all the pleasure out of the moment.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him," Dean growled. He spun away, presumably to fetch his guns.

A half formed plan that Castiel had been considering all night finally solidified in his mind, and he shot a hand out to grab Dean. "No. I need to talk to him."

"Mr. James!" Edgar called. As usual, he didn't bother dismounting. "Are you ready to talk?"

"Cas, you can't." Dean twisted out of Castiel's grip and walked over to where his gun belt sat coiled on the table. He pulled out his colt and checked the load. "That bastard is not taking your land."

"I'm not going to give him anything, Dean." Castiel pulled his pants back on, looping the suspenders over his shoulders, but not bothering with a shirt. "But I do need to talk to him. And I need you to stay hidden."

Dean spun around. "What? He already knows I'm here. I-"

"You are going to stay here and be quiet," Castiel hissed at him. "I have a plan. I'll tell you what it is, but I need to talk to Edgar right now."

He wasn't sure Dean was going to listen to him, but after a moment he huffed out a breath. "Alright, Cas... Alright. But I'm not letting you go out there without cover."

"Mr. James?" There was no impatience in Edgar's voice, merely mild curiosity.

Castiel gave a curt nod. He tried to turn away to leave the cabin, but Dean jerked him back for a quick kiss. "Be careful." He let Castiel go, and grabbed up his trousers to dress himself before he sidled up to the window, being careful to stay out of sight while Castiel walked out the door.

Edgar was waiting patiently when Castiel stepped outside. He lifted a hand to touch the rim of his hat, giving a respectful nod. "Good morning, Mr. James." He looked Castiel up and down, taking in his half-dressed state wordlessly, then turned his attention to the smouldering heap that used to be a barn. "Although it appears to have been an unpleasant night."

The words made Castiel want to pull a gun on the bastard, but he had left his weapons inside. He was glad now, because letting his temper rule him would destroy the fragile plan he was about to set in action. Instead he just ground his teeth for a moment before answering as politely as possible. "I did have an unexpected interruption in my sleep, yes."

Edgar's dark eyes came back to Castiel, and there was just the hint of a smirk around his lips. "So I see. Such a shame." He leaned forward in his saddle. "Out here by yourself, it's difficult to protect your property." His eyes strayed to the cabin behind Castiel. Edgar was not stupid; he must know that Dean was inside and prepared to shoot. The words _even with your guest_ were left unspoken, but Castiel didn't miss them.

"Yes." Castiel wanted to shout at him to get on with it, but he made himself wait for the inevitable offer.

"I see you at least saved the horses."

"Yes."

Edgar stared hard at him, his expression flat as ever. "You know that if you decide you can't take care of this land on your own, you can always sell it."

There was the hook he was waiting for. Now he just needed to pretend to take the bait. He made his muscles sag, and he looked away. Seeing the wreck that had been left of the barn, and his horses grazing in the barely patched corral made it easy to pretend defeat. "I have already told you that his offer is not acceptable."

"Mr. James-"

"But," He turned back and pinned Edgar with a glare. "If Mr. Roman is willing to speak with me in person, maybe we can work something out."

For the first time, there was a flicker of emotion on Edgar's features. He almost looked pleased. "I believe that can be arranged," he said smoothly. "If you'll come to his ranch-"

Castiel waved a hand to cut him off. "No. I'm sure you'll understand if I'm less than trusting of Mr. Roman's hospitality. I would like to meet somewhere neutral."

Edgar's expression hardened slightly, turning dangerous. "Mr. Roman does not cater to your whims."

"If he wants this land, he'll come discuss it with me in town." Castiel crossed his arms over his chest. "I hardly believe that it will be such a hardship for him considering what he will be receiving in return."

The sheriff was silent. The men with him all shifted as they waited for Edgar to make his decision. Finally he gave a gracious nod. "I'll pass along your message. Will Crowley's saloon be an adequate meeting ground?"

"Yes." Castiel didn't trust Crowley much more than he trusted Roman, but he would also be happy to be rid of Roman. It didn't mean he would help with Castiel's plan, but it might mean he wouldn't interfere. "I will meet him there this afternoon."

Edgar nodded again. "Until this afternoon, Mr. James."

It was hard not to sag with relief. Returning the gesture, Castiel thanked him. He waited until Edgar and his men had gone, and then waited some more. He was lost in thought when he heard the cabin door open behind him. Dean appeared at his side carrying his rifle.

"You gonna tell me the plan now, Cas?"

Castiel turned and gave Dean a wide smile. "Do you know the best way to kill a snake?"

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, and gave him a wary look. But he played along. "You cut off its head."

"Exactly." Castiel hooked his fingers in the waistband of Dean's pants and tugged him close. He leaned up and kissed him. Dean dipped his head and met him halfway, allowing him to slide his tongue past his lips. Dean still tasted of smoke, but it only made Castiel want him more.

After a moment, Dean broke away, breathing a little heavily but looking determined. "You gotta tell me more than that, Cas."

"I will tell you everything." Suddenly giddy with the knowledge that this strange feud with Roman would be ending soon, Castiel wanted to celebrate. It might be too soon to consider this a victory, especially since his plan was incredibly dangerous. But right now he couldn't do anything about that.

What he could do was push Dean back into the cabin, which he did, and drop down to his knees, which he also did, and distract Dean for an hour or so, which he definitely did. Later, as they lay tangled together in the blankets of Castiel's narrow bed, he explained his plan, voice rough in the aftermath of their activities.

Dean listened patiently, a furrow between his brows. His fingers traced patterns on Castiel's skin as he thought about it. "That's a damn risky plan, Cas."

"I know."

"I like it."

"I thought you would."

They napped, exhausted from the long night and their love making. But they only slept for a few hours. Neither one of them were relaxed enough to sleep the whole day, not when they had a plan to carry out.

They had managed to salvage only one saddle out of the barn, and since Dean had more experience with bareback riding, they used it on Seraphim. If they needed to escape Purgatory in a hurry, she was the faster of Castiel's horses. He felt uncomfortable leaving Honey Bee by herself in the patched corral, but she was completely unconcerned when they left.

"She'll be fine, Cas," Dean said from his seat on Baby's back. He'd thrown a blanket over her spine and they'd made a rope halter for her. Castiel held the rope as if he were leading the horse, but Baby responded to nudges from Dean's knees and heels. Dean was busy knotting some rope so that when they got close to town they could wrap it around his wrists, but it was tied in such a way that he could jerk free easily.

Castiel accepted the platitude silently, and sent up a prayer that the same could be said for Dean and himself.

Crowley's saloon was right in the center of Purgatory. On the outside the building was plain, the wood gray and in desperate need of paint. It looked less than impressive, although Castiel knew that the inside was in better condition, decorated garishly in golds and reds. When Dean and Castiel stopped their horses outside, a familiar figure stepped out of the shadowed doorway, pulling a knitted shawl closer over her shoulders.

"Well, hey there, Clarence." Meg Masters always had a smug smirk lurking around her mouth, but today it looked strained. She watched as Castiel dismounted and moved to help Dean, who appeared to have his hands tied behind his back, off his horse. "I'd heard a rumor that you were going to be visiting us today. I didn't know you'd be bringing a _friend_though." Her dark eyes flickered across the street, and when Castiel followed her gaze, he saw two men that he believed worked for Roman watching the proceedings very closely.

"Hello, Meg." Castiel didn't look at her again as Dean slid down to the ground in front of him. "Act like you're trying to struggle," he murmured.

This hadn't been part of the original plan, but Dean didn't question him. He jerked as if he were going to run, and Castiel punched him. First in the stomach and then across the cheek. He tried to hold back, but he had to make it look real for the benefit of Roman's men. A glance at Meg proved that the move was a good one when she gave him a tiny nod.

"Fuck," Dean huffed from where he was bent over. He lifted his head enough to quirk an eyebrow at him. "Little warning next time, Cas."

Castiel gave him a cold look and grabbed him high on his uninjured arm. He pushed him roughly ahead of him and up the steps, passing Meg on the way into the saloon.

"Be careful," Meg whispered before she disappeared.

"You know her?" Dean asked quietly as Castiel shoved him to a table in the corner. He kept his voice low because the saloon already had quite a few patrons, and all of their eyes were glued on them at the moment.

"She's a friend of sorts."

Dean grinned, wincing at the pain in his cheek which was already starting to swell. "Friends with a saloon girl, Cas? What would your stuffy religious family think of that?"

"They might be relieved to find out that I bed women." His tone was flat and matter of fact, and he had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from smiling when Dean's eyes widened, first in surprise, then in delight at the joke.

"Mr. James!"

Castiel turned to see Dick Roman pushing through the swinging doors of the saloon. He had only met Roman once, but the man hadn't changed. He still dressed like a gentleman, smiled like a politician, and surrounded himself with sycophants.

Edgar was with him, as well as a large group of rough looking hired guns. They all noticed Dean sitting in the chair behind Castiel, hands supposedly bound behind him. Several of them put their hands on their weapons, including Edgar who eyed the whole scene suspiciously. Castiel had known that Edgar would probably be there, and he hoped the sheriff kept any warnings to himself for long enough to avoid ruining Castiel's plan.

Roman strode across the saloon, ignoring how the patrons suddenly seemed to find a need to be elsewhere. Even Brady, who ran the bar looked wary as he wiped down the pitted wooden counter.

Roman held a hand out to Castiel. "It has been a long time, Mr. James. It is good to see you."

Castiel took it to be polite although he would rather not touch the man. "Hello, Mr. Roman."

Roman smiled widely. "Please. Call me Dick."

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Dick." Castiel extracted his hand and resisted the urge to wipe his palm on his trousers.

"Of course, of course!" His expression suddenly turned concerned. "I was so sorry to hear that you had been targeted by vandals." Castiel stayed the urge to roll his eyes. "Edgar has led me to understand that you've given up on the farming life and wish to sell?"

"Yes." Castiel kept his answers simple.

"Mr. Roman-" Edgar started warningly, and Castiel tensed. If he spoke up now, Dean wouldn't have his chance at Roman.

Roman waved a hand at the Sheriff without turning to face him, and frowned as if Castiel's situation were a great tragedy. "Such a shame, really. We'll miss having you in Purgatory." The frown faded away quickly, morphing into the oily snake salesman smile that always set Castiel on edge. "And I'm quite willing to make a deal with you Mr. James. You know my offer of course."

His offer was ridiculous. It was maybe enough to pay for both of Castiel's thoroughbreds, if he were being generous. But Castiel kept those thoughts to himself for now. "I believe I have something that will tempt you to offer more."

Roman's eyebrows went up in surprise, but his friendly smile didn't waver. His dark eyes didn't even flicker towards Dean. "Do tell, Mr. James."

Castiel stepped to the side and grabbed Dean by the arm, hauling him to his feet. Dean stumbled a little, and Castiel hoped it was just for the act. He already felt guilty for the bruises Dean would be nursing if they survived this. "I believe I have something besides land that you want."

Roman's cheerful demeanor hardened when he finally looked at Dean. "Why, Mr. James. I do believe you have done me a great favor."

Dean sneered up at him. "Go to hell, Dick." He jerked his wrists free, a knife already in his hand. But before he could stab the man, Edgar, who had slowly made his way around behind Dean and Castiel while they were focused on Roman, slipped up behind him and grabbed his arms, causing him to drop his blade.

In the commotion caused by Roman's men trying to subdue Dean, Castiel had been forgotten, which gave him an advantage. Despite his reservations over taking a life when he had only ever done his best to save them, the soldier he had trained to be during the war had won out over the doctor inside him and he had brought his own weapon in case the worst came to pass. A scalpel hidden carefully in his sleeve. He let it drop into his hand, stepped up behind the cattle-rustler-turned-land-baron and with one swift move stabbed the blade into the side of his neck.

Roman froze, gurgling as blood filled his air passages. And then he slowly slumped to the floor. Castiel let the handle of the blade slip out of his bloody fingers, watching impassively as the former criminal collapsed at his feet. Blood quickly pooled around Roman's body, wetting Castiel's boot.

He should have felt guilty for taking a life when he'd dedicated so much of his own to saving them. It was why he'd asked Dean to make the killing blow - because he didn't think he could do it himself. But instead he felt an intense sense of justness. He would never use that scalpel again for it's intended purpose, but he didn't mourn its loss any more than he mourned the breaking of his oath as a physician to do no harm. Right now he was not a doctor, but a man protecting his home and his community from a threat.

Everything seemed to come to a standstill as people realized that a man was dead. And not the one they'd expected. Castiel looked up at Dean and they exchanged a what felt like a long stare, but in reality was only seconds.

Then all hell broke loose.

Dean jerked free of the men holding him, smashing an elbow into Edgar's face before taking his gun out of his holster. He smashed the butt of the gun into another man's throat, before spinning it and quickly shooting three more men before anyone else could react.

Castiel pulled his own gun and shot a man nearly point blank who was aiming a pistol at Dean's back. Screams, gunfire, and chaos erupted around them. Castiel emptied his gun, and tossed it aside, dropping to the floor and tugging loaded weapons out of the holsters of fallen men. When he saw Dean diving for cover, he slid one of the guns across the floor to him, and then quickly ducked behind an overturned table himself. The thin wood was not an adequate barrier, and he shouted hoarsely when a bullet tore through it and into his side.

"Cas!"

More gunfire exploded around him, but it wasn't aimed at him.

"Cas!?"

"Dean!"

Apparently hearing his voice was all the answer Dean needed. More gunshots. A death scream, and thumps as bodies hit the floor.

Castiel looked down at his side, noticing the spreading bloodstain in his clothing. At least the shot seemed to have gone all the way through. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but the surgeon in him knew by the location that it probably hadn't hit anything vital. As long as he didn't bleed out or get an infection - or take another bullet in the next ten minutes - he'd survive. He pressed a fist against the exit wound, hoping to staunch the bleeding.

When the room went silent, Castiel lifted his head. The air seemed to hold a phantom echo of the fight, but all he could hear was harsh breathing, and the sound of a woman crying somewhere nearby. "Dean?" he said softly.

He heard footsteps, and then Dean was looming over him. "Jesus Christ, Cas," Dean hissed as he crouched down next to him. His green eyes were wide, bouncing back and forth between Castiel's face and the blood staining his hands and clothes. "Please tell me that's not your blood."

"That would be a lie." He lifted his hand away just enough that Dean could see the wound before pressing it back down. "What happened? Are we safe?"

Dean dropped to his knees next to Castiel. He began pawing at his clothes pulling off his overshirt, and he bundled it up and nudged Castiel's hand out of the way so he could press it to the bloody hole in his stomach. "For now, until people outside realize the fight's over and come to see what happened."

"I'm bleeding in the back, too." Castiel took over holding the shirt to his stomach.

"Dammit." Dean's eyes widened even further and he was breathing hard. "Cas, we need to get you to a doctor."

"I am a doctor." Castiel laughed a little, wincing at the pain it caused. He reached up with his free hand and gripped Dean's shoulder. "I will be alright."

He wasn't completely sure of that, but something in Dean's wrecked expression gave him the burning desire to calm the other man. He managed a smile, one which he hoped was reassuring. And then his world went dark.

When he woke again, he was in an unfamiliar room. The walls were papered with pale flowers on a cream background, and white curtains did little to filter the sunlight out of the room. Turning his head on the pillow, Castiel saw the room was simply furnished. A washstand stood against the wall next to the door, and on the other side of the bed was a cushioned chair with a familiar form curled up in it, reading a book.

His voice was a dry croak. "Sam?"

The younger man's head jerked up at the sound of his voice. "Cas?" He set his book aside without marking the page and got up to stand over the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Confused. "Where's Dean?" He frowned. "Where am I?"

Sam answered the least important questions first. "The Fitzgeralds were kind enough to let you stay in their home until you're well enough to go home. You've been out for a little over a day. Apparently you lost a lot of blood." His smile was bright, and very relieved. "I'm glad you're alright."

So was Castiel, but he still wanted to know where Dean was. "Why are you here? Where's Dean?"

"Man, that's a crazy story. I got back to Purgatory with my dad the morning after you and Dean shot up the saloon and half of Roman's gang. The ones that survived scattered after Roman went down, so there wasn't much for us to do except make sure you and Dean weren't accused of murder." He smirked. "Lucky for you, the new sheriff likes you."

Castiel growled with frustration and clamped a hand on Sam's wrist, although his grip was weak. "Where's Dean?"

Sam had the temerity to laugh. "Relax, he'll be back any minute. He hasn't left your side much, but I talked him into going downstairs to eat. He's going to be pretty pissed at me for it too, now that you're awake."

Castiel relaxed back into the bed. The fear he felt that Dean would just be gone from his life now that Roman was dead faded with Sam's assurance. He realized it was irrational, since Sam's presence probably guaranteed that Dean wouldn't be too far away either. "Who's the new sheriff?" he asked, curiosity finally catching up with him.

"Garth Fitzgerald."

Castiel cracked an eye open. "Are you serious?"

Sam's grin widened, his dark eyes bright with suppressed laughter. "He's surprisingly good at it."

It seemed strange to think of the gangly young man in such a position of power. But after a moment of thought, Castiel smiled too. Garth cared about people, and he'd make sure the town was run right.

The door opened, and Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean striding through. "Alright, Sammy, you were right. The pie was worth it. But I am not leaving here again unless-" Dean halted inside the door when his eyes fell on Castiel. He let out a long breath, his body sagging briefly before he strode across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He took Castiel's hand in both of his and smiled warmly. "Hey, Cas. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been shot." He hadn't meant it as a joke, but Dean chuckled anyway. Castiel smiled in response.

"Dean stitched you up himself," Sam said from the other side of the bed. "Which means it's a shit job, and you'll probably want to get a professional to look at the mess he's made of it."

Dean spared a moment to glare at his brother. "I may not be a doctor, but I can handle a needle and thread."

"I'm sure that talent will make you a wonderful wife someday," Sam teased. Castiel laughed, then stifled it when pain tore through his abdomen. It was good to see Sam and Dean teasing each other. It was very different from his own family relations, and it was refreshing to witness.

When Dean growled at him, Sam held his hands up defensively although the grin never left his face. "I'm going to leave you two alone." He walked around the bed, giving Dean a wide berth. He stopped in the doorway. "I'm glad you're alright, Cas."

The door shut softly behind him, but Castiel had already turned his attention back to Dean. "We won?" he already knew the answer from Sam, but he needed to hear it again.

"We won." Dean smiled softly. He ran the tips of his fingers over the back of Castiel's hand, tracing unknown patterns. "I'm getting the reward money, too."

"That's good." Castiel wanted desperately to ask if that meant he was leaving Purgatory. If he was leaving Castiel. But they had never discussed their relationship and he didn't know how to start now.

Dean cleared his throat and looked down at his lap. "Yeah. I gave most of it to Sammy. He wants to go back to school and finish his lawyering degree."

Castiel squeezed the hand holding his own. "You are a good brother."

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner's of Dean's lips but he didn't look up. "Thanks."

They were both silent for a moment. Castiel studied Dean's normally expressive face, trying to see what was going on in his head, but he seemed to be wearing a blank mask. Castiel hated it. And he couldn't stand the quiet right now. Not when he didn't know how much more he would get to hear Dean's voice. "What about you?" he asked, his voice rough. "What are you going to do now that the job is done?"

Dean's fingers tightened around his, and his shoulders shifted into a defensive position. "I've got another job lined up." He glanced up at Castiel, almost shyly, then looked back down. "Got a burned out barn to rebuild. Then I was thinking I'd buy a stallion and start breeding horses." He cleared his throat. "Was kind of hoping you'd partner up on that with me since you've got a couple of breeding mares."

Castiel stopped breathing.

"I uh… don't have enough to buy my own ranch, though," Dean continued.

A tiny flame of hope blossomed inside Castiel's chest. "I've got plenty of land. If we become partners, you could… stay with me."

Dean finally looked up at him, holding his gaze. The way the light hit his eyes made the gold flecks stand out against the green, making his eyes shine. Or maybe it was just the hopeful smile gracing his features. "Yeah?"

Castiel was weak, but he tugged at the hand holding his own. Dean took the hint and leaned forward, and when Castiel wrapped his free hand around the back of his neck he eagerly bent down for a kiss. When they broke apart, he didn't move very far away and their breath mingled between them. Dean smelled faintly of berries, probably from the pie he'd just eaten. "Please stay with me, Dean." He paused, fearful of speaking his feelings out loud. But he couldn't not say what was in his heart. "I love you. I know that what we have may not be accepted by-"

Dean cut him off with a hard kiss, taking his breath away with the heat behind it. He nipped at Castiel's bottom lip before leaning up again. His eyes were fierce. "I don't care what anyone else thinks, Cas. I love you, too. And I-" his voice cracked and he swallowed. "God, Cas. When I saw all that blood I thought I'd lost you. I can't… I don't want to lose you."

Tears filled his eyes and he dropped his head down on Castiel's chest. Castiel ran his fingers through the short hair at the back of Dean's head and held him close. He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief and contentment. There would be challenges. He had a feeling Sam would accept them as they were, but there was still John Winchester to deal with. If nothing else, Castiel suspected he might get upset that his eldest son was planning on leaving the family business. He also had no idea what would happen if the people of Purgatory found out about their relationship.

And then of course, there was just the normal everyday challenges of running a small ranch. That was going to be a lot of work for both of them. Especially at the start.

But as long as he had Dean, Castiel thought it would all be worth it.

Dean pulled away, ignoring Castiel's weak protests. He kicked off his boots, and pulled the blankets back so that he could squeeze into the small bed next to Castiel. He lay on his side, and Castiel turned his head so they could still look at each other.

"Sometimes," Dean said quietly. "I wake up and I think that I'm still in that hospital. And that everything since the war ended is just a fever dream." He laced his fingers through Castiel's and brought their hands up so that he could kiss his knuckles. "Especially the time I've spent with you."

"I hope not," Castiel rasped. "I've been rather glad to have you around."

"Even though I was…"

Castiel stopped him by squeezing his fingers. "The war is over, Dean."

Dean smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. "Yeah." He fell silent, and his eyes dropped away. Castiel waited patiently and was rewarded when he spoke again a few minutes later. "Do you know I used to think you were an angel?"

Castiel chuckled, then winced when the movement pulled at his injury. But his smile didn't fade. "You woke up a few times when I was tending your shoulder. You asked me if I was an angel." Dean's blush made him want to kiss the other man, but he held still to avoid jostling himself any further. Bullet wounds hurt like a son of a bitch. "I'm named after an angel, you know."

Dean's bright eyes came up to meet his and he smiled wryly. "Of course you are."

Castiel quirked an eyebrow at him. "Why do you say that?"

"I'd call it fate, if I believed in that bullshit." He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Castiel's lips. "You saved more than just my life."

Leaning into Dean, and breathing him in, Castiel smiled against his lips. "You've done the same for me, Dean."

Dean huffed in embarrassment, muttering affectionately about 'damned Yankees' and nuzzling Castiel's cheek. He was obviously done talking about their feelings for each other. And Castiel was alright with that. They could talk later, and they would undoubtedly need to, but right now Castiel was going to enjoy the quiet moment.

He closed his eyes and went back to sleep, content to know that when he woke he would have the peace he had desired for so many years, along with a home and someone to share it with. And if anything came along to disturb that peace, he and Dean would face it together.


End file.
